The Apprentice Project
by xXCrimsonBlueXx
Summary: Alfred has been hunting vampires since he was seventeen, and he's got the angst to prove it. When an infatuation with a charming-ly irritated- Arthur begins, he has no idea it will bring him to the brink of war. Meanwhile, across the globe, dozens of vampires know exactly that, and will go to any means to either stop the war, or win it. USUK, various. Slow moving plot.
1. The Red Barn

**AN: Alo! Look at me, going along with everyone else.**

**The idea for this just kinda took hold of me... and I decided, why not? So here we are. And yes, it is a vampire!au.**

**Definite pairings are: USUK, spamano, and dennor.**

**Disclaimer: No poseo nada de la serie Hetalia.**

**This is not a chapter, it is merely a humble prologue.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Alfred remembered the first time he had seen one of them. Thirteen years old. (But almost fourteen) The summer before high school, the beginning of his rise to popularity in school.<p>

It was the day after his brother's birthday. Matthew was a year younger than him, his birthday three days before Alfred's. They were only half-brothers, Matthew's mother was pregnant barely months after Alfred's gave birth.

It was the day after Matthew's birthday, and they were going out to the barn about a kilometer behind their old house.

They didn't live there anymore.

After some breakthrough or other Matthew's mother had made, they had moved to an admittedly nicer house nearer to the small Vermont town.

But they still went to the barn sometimes.

Crickets were chirping, the heat overwhelming even at sunset. Lavender pink dusted the sky, churning with gold and orange that blanketed the earth, before melting into a star-spotted black and blue. They laughed and hollered through the farmland, reaching the barn panting and sweaty from running the entire distance.

"Hey, Mattie."

"Yeah Al?" Matthew answered, longish blonde hair sticking to his neck with sweat. A lone strand of hair that looped in a single curl bobbing in the gentle breeze.

Alfred smiled, gazing at the wind-torn red structure. "How long's it been since we've been here?" he whispered, the sentimentality overthrowing his normally exuberant personality.

"Years... not since we lived here, eh?" Matthew glanced at his brother, a warm smile resting on his face.

Alfred nodded eagerly, a feeling that perhaps over the years the barn would hold new adventures, just like every new time they visited.

The door creaked when it opened. The hinges were old and rusty, the white paint chipping and falling at the slightest movement.

Inside it was dark, musty, like any forgotten barn on the edge of a forgotten river behind forgotten fields. A dank, moldy smell with hints of iron or copper stood out amongst the many scents, and both boys curled their noses in disgust.

"Mattie..."

"Yeah Al?"

Alfred turned to face his brother, seeing an identical expression of disgust. "Has it always smelled this bad?"

Matthew shook his head, barely visible as the last hints of purple and gold disappeared over the horizon. He was lit up a second later as Alfred turned on the flashlight he had brought. "Christ Al! It's in my eyes!"

"Sorry sorry!" The flashlight was directed at the ground, before into the barn, revealing a nostalgic ladder and boughs of green-tinted hay. Alfred ran to the ladder, motioning for his brother to follow. "I think I see something near the bottom of the stairs." he whispered, leaning down to inspect it.

Blue.

A flash of blue.

Alfred spun, shining the light beneath the bunk, trying to find what had flashed blue. Matthew behind him had started climbing up the ladder, murmuring something about the hole in the ceiling. Alfred nodded, despite the fact that his brother couldn't see him. He continued searching, finally coming upon a hole in the wall. That must have been where the flash came from. He peered through the hole, seeing blurred shapes.

It was a strange scene, one he both understood and couldn't comprehend at the same time. But no matter what the figures- for there was most definitely two, were doing, he felt an undeniable shudder race up his spine, and he shivered, desperately hoping the one shape didn't see him.

And then it turned.

To face him.

Alfred shot away from the wall, his back to the ladder, and he continued shuddering at the feeling the bright blue eyes had given him. He knew they were blue, but he got an uncontrollable feeling of red from them.

Red like blood.

"Matthew, Matthew!" he called up to his brother, who swung his head over the ledge.

"What?" There was a hint of irritation in his voice, as if Alfred had interrupted him from an important duty.

"We have to go. Now."

Matthew rolled his eyes, but hoisted himself onto the ladder. He slid down to the bottom rung, before jumping off. Or at least trying to. "Al..."

"What, we gotta go!"

Matthew looked up at him, "I'm... stuck."

Alfred's eyes widened, but he ran back to his brother, seeing his shoelaces tangled into the old nails and wood splinters of the ladder.

"Fuckin' hoser!" Matthew grunted, struggling to pull his leg out from the rung of the ladder.

Alfred looked up from where he was untying his shoelace. "I know what that means now! And don't get mad at me, I'm trying to help you!"

Matthew rolled his eyes, "I wasn't talking to you Al. Calm down." He groaned as his calf muscle stung from the position he was in. "Hurry up!"

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Alfred stuck a tongue out of his mouth, biting down to draw blood as he finally managed to untangle the pesky lace. "Got it!"

Matthew sprung out, crying out in pain as he put weight on his foot. Alfred turned, already reaching the door. "Mattie! You okay?"

He grimaced and nodded, reapplying pressure until he felt the pain somewhat numbed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Keep running!"

Alfred nodded, throwing another glance into the empty barn before slamming the door shut behind his brother.

It was never opened again.

**5 years later-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-**

Alfred leaned onto the bar, his fake ID easily gaining him access to a rum and coke. Even when he did indulge, he always kept it to a minimum with some good ol' sugar added. He sipped some, cringing lightly. The bartender swigged some liquid from a silver hand flask, before turning and baring him a grin.

"Anything else?"

Alfred smiled, shaking his head. "Your eyes, they're... interesting."

The bartender laughed, a strange hissing sound, before replying, "Thanks, I'm an albino."

"I didn't know there was such thing as human albinos..." Alfred replied with a frown.

"Kesesese, what can I say, I'm unique."

Alfred chuckled, before raising his glass and spinning to face the rest of the bar. "To being unique!" The rest of the bar cheered, and several beers were raised and a lot of liquid was sloshed, and Alfred felt his brother sidle into the seat next to him.

"Making strange cheers again, eh?"

Alfred laughed, winking in agreement. The bartender turned to face the newcomer, recognition flashing across his face. "Birdie!"

"Hey Gil."

"Mattie? You know him?"

Matthew rolled his eyes, waiting for the glass of impending intoxication. "I've told you about him, This is Gilbert."

Alfred turned and gave a cheery smile to the albino. "Hey Gil! I'm Al, Mattie's brother from another mother!"

Gil released his unusual laugh again, "I know, Birdie told me."

Alfred chuckled in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced up at him again, a dangerous glint in his eye. "I'd be careful though Gil, with eyes like that," he smiled, baring a canine.

"Someone might mistake you for a vampire."

* * *

><p><strong>I haven't decided on Franada or Prucan yet... if you have an opinion please tell me cause I'm at a loss xAx<strong>

**Arthur's in the next chapter! This was more of a prologue so it's a bit shorter, starting next chapter they'll get a bit longer.**

**I'll try to update once or twice a week, but even if I start out with fast updates, it very likely will decline... cause that's what always happens ;;**

**Review any questions, comments or suggestions~~**


	2. I: A Light Vermilion Nostalgia

**AN: Fair warning; Although this fic focuses mainly on USUK, of course, the side pairings will have a substantial amount of time in the spotlight.**

**Although I do so adore Franada, I'm afraid Prucan won, and I owe it to my friend who I'm forcing to read this, who's already mad at me for the bare fact of liking it.**

**HATERS GONNA HATE.**

**Thank you so much everyone who voted/reviewed!**

**Now, someone(you know who you are) asked me whether or not Gilbert is a vampire, and the answer to your question...**

**will be revealed next chapter o7o**

**_SpanishTomato1492_**

_SItalianTomato14902_

**Disclaimer: Has anyone ever written 'disclaimer' and not followed it with some version of 'I don't own _'?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>It was the dead of the night, and all was silent in the Vargas household. You could faintly hear some tousling from the youngest brother's room, along with murmurings of a nightmare involving mutilated pasta. There was a gentle tacking sound coming from the room across from his, and if you were to go inside the room, you would come across a bundle of blankets with a face peering out. The face was lit by a dimmed but still bright computer screen, and every now and then when the tacking got faster or paused momentarily, you could see a small smile or frown flit across the older Italian's face.<p>

Lovino Vargas had put effort into choosing his username, _SItalianTomato14902. _The first part was a testament to his nationality and favorite fruit, (It was a fruit dammit and anyone who said differently was a stupid-ass bastard) but the second part was more personal.

September 14, 2002.

The day he had came back to Italy, and more importantly, left Spain. Spain and Antonio. He had been nine when he left, he was eighteen now, and he had been there since seven years old. He had lived with Antonio, who was five years older than him, and his mother.

It was quite a coincidence, really.

When he saw the username _SpanishTomato1492_, of course he felt slightly unnerved, due to their similarity, but he hadn't found out the true identity until after they had made a habit of staying and chatting deep into the night. They had found out when they were explaining their usernames, about two months before.

**2 months before-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-**

_**u kno, im a bit surprised we haven't mentioned it earlier, but dont u find it funny that our names r so similar :3?**_

_yeah. Its fucking hilarious. Y did think I originally talked to you?_

_**because I seemed nice?**_

_lol_

_anyway, I don't think it's 4 the same reason so y do u have 1492 in urs?_

_**Cause i'm a patriot**_

_?_

_gasp** don't u kno ur spanish histroy!**_

_***history**_

_why the fuck do i have to?_

_**cultural enrichment**_

_can kiss my ass._

_**roma~~~~ haven't I told u not to curse?**_

_yeah, and I told you to fuck off._

_don't call me that._

_**roma?**_

_u want me calling u madrida?_

_**if you want ^^**_

_I don't want._

_**then dont ^^**_

_i 3 google so much right now._

_**I'm sure ur old history txtbooks could use some of that love.**_

_Spain emerged as a unified country in the 15th century, following the marriage of the Catholic Monarchs and the completion of the reconquest, or Reconquista, of the Iberian peninsula in 1492._

_txtbooks dont need love. doodles ftw_

_**x3**_

_**good job. most guess columbus.**_

_**and urs?**_

_grazie. _

_mines... more personal ;_

_**ill be sure not to tell all our mutual friends**_

_haha_

_bastardo_

_fine... fuck._

_it's the day I left spain, kay? i had people there i rlly cared about... and i never saw them after that. _

_**that's weird...**_

_look its important to me!_

_**no no thats not what i meant! there was a boy who was living with me and my mom and he left around then.**_

_**i think it might have actually been...**_

_**brb**_

_mm_

_**i was right!**_

_?_

_**sep 9, 02! thats the exact day!**_

_...stuff like that doesn't happen irl._

_**we haven't told each other our real names, have we?**_

_theres no fucking way._

_none_

_your shitting me_

_pulling my leg_

_yanking my chain_

_does.. your name start with an a?_

_**Lovi!**_

…_._

…

…_..._

_no way in hell._

_Antonio?_

**Present day-~-~-~-~-~-**

Lovino's face was washed out by the light from the computer's screen, but if one looked closely enough, they would see the smile that had wormed it's way onto his face, and decided to stick. Eventually he tacked in a goodbye, shut down the old desktop and yawned, stretching like a lazy cat. He climbed out of his chair, went through the daily bathroom routine, groaning loudly when the light flickered on, before collapsing onto the bed.

He would be woken not enough hours later by an Italian who was actually ecstatic about something besides pasta.

* * *

><p>"A vampire?"<p>

"Yup!" Alfred replied, happily swigging back the rest of the drink. "You never know when a vampire hunter could come in."

Gilbert chuckled, "Weeell, I'll make sure to remember that. But," he started, "On the off-chance I'm _not_ a vampire, wouldn't I want a vampire hunter to come in? You know, in case a vampire does walk in after." As if to punctuate his statement, the small bells on the door tinkled as another person walked in. Gilbert winked at Alfred, for the second time that night, before saying, "Gotta get that, he's a regular."

Alfred nodded, amused smile on his face and refilled glass in his hand.

"Artie!"

"Don't call me that."

"Rough day?"

"Mine are always the roughest."

"Kesesesese~ So the usual then?"

"There's a chap."

He heard the calls from across the room exchanged between the bartender and the mystery man grow steadily quieter until the man was seated a few seats away from him, frothy beer glass standing in front of him already.

* * *

><p>Feliciano Vargas burst into his older brother's room minutes after hearing the news from their grandfather.<p>

"Fratello!" He called, shaking the lump of sheets on Lovino's bed. "Fratello get up! I have huuuuuuge news!" He said, elongating the 'u' in huge to magnify just how huuuuuuge the news was.

Lovino opened one eye and glared at his younger, more cheerful brother. "What?" Feliciano beamed, and Lovino was sure he could hear a drum-roll somewhere. "What..." he repeated warily.

"You know how Luddy's brother works in America?"

"Yeah."

"And he was gonna go visit him for summer?"

"Yeah..."

"Grandpa said we could go too!" Feliciano finally exclaimed, happiness and excitement exuding from him in waves.

Lovino widened his eyes, "Go where?" He asked, his paranoia refusing to believe he got a free trip to America just because his grandfather was a bit fond of his brother's boyfriend (and his brother's boyfriend's grandfather, but he preferred to _never _think about that thank you very much.)

"Washington DC!" He chirped. "We're going in a week!"

So it was true. "Where are we gonna stay?" He asked, always focused on the details.

"We're staying with one of Gilbert's friends and his brother!"

"The fuck! I don't wanna stay with some stranger!"

"Ve~? But he's Gilbert's friend!"

"So?" Lovino responded incredulously. "He's a stranger to us! I'd rather stay with those potato-bastards than some random hamburger-bastard I've never met before!"

"You didn't mind when you went to Spain!" Feliciano protested with a frown. "And Gilbert's already letting Luddy stay in his apartment."

"I was seven! I'm still amazed they _weren't _kidnappers!"

"You know that's not true Fratello! You liked Toni so why not give these guys a try."

Lovino gave in with a sigh, flopping his head back onto the pillow. "Fine." Feliciano cheered in victory, and Lovino called after him before falling back asleep. "But I'm not living with some creep!"

He fell asleep before he could see Feliciano chuckle and nod.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile in the capital of Spain, a smiling brunette was buying overnight tickets to Washington DC (With a layover at JFK) to meet his two best friends.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Haha so I lied. About making chapters longer, that is.<strong>

**But! This means updates will be faster and better writing is almost guaranteed.**

**One more warning! Christ, way to keep your trust... But anyway, if you'll please notice, I did not mark this as 'Horror'. Because I can't write horror. Read it, watch it, look it, whatever. But I can't write it. Never been able to, so this not a horror story. If you expect it to be, you _will_ be disappointed.**

**So, despite my lies and warnings and such, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, will review, and continue reading~~~**

**Next chapter: 11/7- 11**

**GAAAH Why'd I make Spain so old! ;A;**


	3. II: Copper Epiphanies

**AN: :/**

**I warned y'all**

**Okay so I lied, this doesn't reveal whether or not Gilbert's a vampire but I figure nothing will be concrete till chapter infinity or whatever, so instead, I go against all my author beliefs and say, no. He isn't.**

**Short and late and bad chapter is short and late and bad.**

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>Alfred was sure of it now.<p>

He continued peeking small glances at his neighbor at the bar, until Matthew cleared his throat loudly from his awkward position between them.

Catching the hint, Alfred quickly asked, "Haven't I met you before?"

"No." The man replied bluntly, taking another drink from the frothing glass in front of him.

Alfred glanced desperately at his brother, who rolled his eyes and abandoned him in response.

"No- your voice- I'm sure I've heard it before-" he persisted.

"It's called an English accent. Many people have it. Much of southern Britain, for instance."

The American pouted. "No, I'm sure-"

"Look! We've never met, okay? Unless-" 'Artie' raised a brow and his lip twitched in the beginnings of an amused smile. "You're not hitting on me, right?"

The blush was instantaneous. It spread up through his neck to the tip of his ears, and the stutter in his voice was inevitable as well. "N-no! Not at all!"

"No need to deny it _quite _so readily…"

"Just- what's your name?" Alfred compromised lamely.

"And… why should I tell you?"

"Because you've drunk enough to make bad decisions?"

He laughed slightly at the self-deprecating joke, before saying, "Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

"Nice to meet ya Artie, my name's Alfred but you can call me Al." (Arthur would never admit it, but his head broke out into song at this line)

"I won't call you Al and _don't_ call me Artie."

They were interrupted by a hacking sound behind them and they turned to see Matthew exchanging a look with the bored albino behind the counter. "Whenever you're done…" he said, waving his hand in a bored manner as if gesturing to carry on.

"We-"

"Great. Alfred, we have to go pick up the Vargases from the airport." He smiled wryly and nodded to the brit. "Always a pleasure Arthur."

"Pleasure's mine, Matthew."

* * *

><p>"Ve, fratello… Lovino… wake up…" Feliciano futilely tried to shake his older brother from his apparently comatose state as overweight housewives tittered from behind him. "Lovino..."<p>

Aforementioned brother turned slightly, unconsciously shoving his shoulder in Feliciano's nose.

"That's not very nice Fratello." The younger brunette scolded, puffing out his cheeks, to which the sleeping Lovino merely snorted. "Lovi... if you don't wake up Lovi, I'll! I'll-"

Lovino turned once more, this time lightly slapping his brother on the arm, and finally Feliciano cried, "I'll ban tomatoes from the house!"

"NO!" He sprung up from the uncomfortable position in the barely reclined airplane seat and spun to face Feliciano with a look of shock on his face. "You!- wait. You need that for pasta sauce..." Lovino ended with a dubious note, glaring at his brother and falling back into the makeshift bed. "Wake me up when the plane lands."

"But Fratello! The plane _has _landed!"

* * *

><p>Gilbert waited until the retreating figures had become merely a dot before leaning down with a smirk and addressing the blond in front of him. "Soooooo, your verdict?"<p>

Arthur glared up from the rim of his glass, sipping it before responding stonily."What are you blathering about now?"

"Don't pretend you didn't hear it halfway across the town."

"And what makes you think I'd listen to whatever you go on about?"

"We can play this game for hours Artie, but we all know how it will end." Gilbert gave a winning smile, snatching the glass and re-filling it.

The Brit frowned but accepted defeat in the form of waving off the proffered glass, "Tastes like sand anyway. He thinks Vampire's eyes are red. I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Well Arthur, I wasn't sure. I thought you looked a bit pale."

"Shut it." Arthur glared halfheartedly at him before darting his eyes to the door behind him. "You have some left, I presume?"

"Some left? Antonio's coming over, I have boatloads."

"Perfect."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and gestured to the swinging door behind the bar, "Help yourself. Tell Toni he owes me."

"Tell him yourself." Arthur muttered as he dashed by. It wasn't until he was halfway through the bag did it click.

"Wait! If Antonio's coming over that means the frog is too!"

* * *

><p><strong>I'm planning on integrating a sh**load of our dashing Hetalians into this fic, and I support so many pairings myself, so if there are any people in particular you can't stand separated, give me a ring. Or, you know, a review.<strong>

**Also, half of the time things are never stated, so you gotta pick it up... but I'll prolly make it pretty obvious so no worries, yeah?**

**Reviews make me faster, so review luv.**


	4. III: Like Rivers of Rufous Gold

**AN: Not as late as the last one yet not as early as the second, so all in all, pretty good I'd say. In length, okay as well. Check and check.**

**In this chapter we have more characters featured, and all that interesting stuff. Things skipped in this chapter will be brought back eventually.**

**Thank you for all your gorgeous reviews, they make me all warm and fuzzy inside.**

**It is my personal belief that the Italy brothers constantly speak to each other in Italian when alone, but I'm too lazy and get a bit annoyed when others do it myself, so we shan't have Italian all over. Makes it easier on you as well. Unless you're Italian. In which case, I'm sure my google-mess would be worse than the English.**

**Disclaimer: That's right. Still haven't morphed into Hidekaz Himaruya. Sigh.**

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>"A pureblood is a pureblood is a pureblood." Elizaveta chimed, her cystal flute making a melodic ting when it hit her husband's. "If Arthur wants to run off and play human, it's his choice."<p>

Roderich sipped aristocratically, before casting a worried glance in the direction of the empty chair at his side. "I know, I'm just worried. How do we know he won't lose control?"

"We don't." She replied simply, closing her green-hazel eyes. "But Gilbert's watching after him."

"Exactly. I don't see why I should trust one of your consorts with my nephew."

Elizaveta Hedervary snapped her eyes open and fixed her husband with a pointed glare. "Don't be melodramatic, Roderich, I've never seen him, or anyone besides you, that way." She sighed and smiled sadly, resting her head on one hand while her mind screamed to get mad. "After dinner, will you play for me?"

Roderich nodded shamefully. "Of course, and I'm sorry."

* * *

><p>Lovino looked with dread around the airport. He'd never like airports, overly-crowded-yet-still-too-large-buildings-with-calm-voices-that-only-managed-to-infuriate-him that they were. He turned to his understandably tired younger brother and gave a completely inconspicuous huff. Completely.<p>

"Fratello? What's wrong?" Feliciano asked obligatorily, his eyes dazed sleepily.

"We've been waiting for thirty minutes."

"And when they get here, we will have been waiting for thirty minutes."

Lovino che'd and peered around the room for their host brothers. Before he could notice the two bobbing blond heads, however, they noticed them.

"Feliciano? Lovino?" A pale boy-man asked. He smiled kindly as he awaited the reply.

"Si- er, yes!" Feliciano complied chipperly. He swung his bag dangerously close to their faces as he pulled them into a hug, a reluctant Lovino squashed in the middle. "Alfred and Matthew?"

Matthew, presumably, nodded and led the brothers to the shuttle. Lovino swore the familiar wavy brown locks was his imagination.

* * *

><p>Antonio groaned in frustration as people milled about him. Peter, in a young Brit he met on the second flight, passed with the airport-secured guardian and smiled at him before skipping to the top of a banister, at the misfortune of the fretting woman. He could barely remember being that age- it had been so long ago. He'd formed the habit of recycling his life since he'd met Arthur, who looked quite a bit like Peter now that he thought about it, and eventually the novelty of youth had worn off. Every time he complained to Francis, however, all he got was a roll of the eye and a huffed 'moustiques stupides'. Which has actually been quite hilarious on the soon to be stubbled face. His trance was broken by a flight attendant accidentally bumping into him, blushing scarlet, and squeaking an apology.<p>

He flipped his phone open to see three missed calls from Gilbert. He groaned again and used the detestable device to call him back.

* * *

><p>"The truth is sad, yet relevant." Lukas looked at his younger, sud-covered brother and tilted his head questioningly. "He's not going to leave until you tell him to."<p>

Lukas looked at the cheerful Dane in his living room, then back to Erik. "Don't start things so philosophically, I'll think you're talking about serious things." He replied bluntly, fully aware of the slight 'Hey!' from the side.

Erik nodded complacently, returning to the pastry-dirtied dishes in front of him.

"He's right!" Lukas called to Mathias. "Get your relevant røv out of my house!"

"But _Norge~!"_

"Out!"

They heard a few whines before the click and semi-slam of the door, and the younger blond turned to his brother. "You're too kind to him."

"Don't even start. We don't keep a whole drawer of Chinese snacks for our own pleasure."

* * *

><p>Oh bloody <em>hell.<em>

Oh bloody hell in a handbasket full of fresh picked flowers from the Swiss alps.

What was he doing here? What was so urgent call-me-Al just had to come to the pharmacy at two in the bloody morning? He seemed like the type to talk to people he met in bars too. Arthur's eyes darted to the distant door as his fight-or-flight response was triggered. Of course, there was no way the innocent boy was actually a threat, but aspiration had always been a weak point of his, and there was no way he could hurt those star-filled eyes. So, he went for the secret third option; hide.

And hide he did. Behind a row of kitchen utensils that somehow managed to completely defeat the purpose and make a loud clanging noise. He swiveled around, only to swear at the fact he had trapped himself in the corner.

"I found you!" A bright voice cheered triumphantly behind him.

Arthur frowned and spun to face him, a bit miffed by the lack of personal space. "What is this, a game of hide and seek?"

"Well... you hid, and I seeked you!"

"No, you sought me." Arthur scowled, shoving the larger man. "And I wasn't hiding. Shove off.'

"Of course you weren't. And once you get the pregnancy test you were looking for, you can come out."

Now, Arthur liked to think himself quite the composed man, but he did have capillaries in his cheeks, and as he turned to see he was, in fact, housed between pregnancy tests and ironically placed Trojans, he flamed brilliant red and quickly slipped through the gap he had created. "I was- I was just!" He made an interesting sound a bit 'hrmnpsurq!' before storming towards the door.

Alfred grinned and ran after him, pulling him back before he reached aforementioned destination, and added calmly, "Wait up, Artie. You seem like you've been here before- or at least, you did, and I need help finding something."

The brit seemed about to retort, before sighing charismatically and rolling his eyes. "Fine. But only if you stop calling me Artie."

Alfred's eyes lit up in relief and he smiled widely. "Course, England! Now, I have these Italians staying at my place..."

* * *

><p><strong>Yay! More characters are always fun, da?<strong>

**I've hopefully gotten back in the swing of things, and will be updating my other stories as well, but till then, leave a review telling me to keep this one a top priority~~**

**Unnecessary character introductions:**

**Lukas: Norway**

**Mathias: Denmark**

**Erik: Iceland**

**The nordics will feature heavily in the next chapter. You'll eventually learn how much I obsess over them.**

**Sorry I forgot about these guys...**

**Translations via Google translate.**

_**Mostiques stupides (French) : **_**Stupid Mosquito. Presumably.**

**Røv (Danish) : Ass. Or bum, if you so prefer.**


	5. IV: And the Scarlet Robin Flew Away

**AN: Whoo another chapter!**

**Thank you for the prettyful review(s)**

**I've been getting the usual traumatizing school-issues, so chapters will be late, but I have been focusing on this story rather than my others ^^**

**Disclaimer: Oh in her dreams...**

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>"Is it just me, or has Mathias been spending more time here lately?"<p>

Erik glanced silently at his brother, "Maybe you're just noticing him more."

"I know that's not it…" Erik nodded and slipped into his white coat, huffing a sigh. Lukas spoke in lamenting agreement, "How can these jackets be both constricting and too loose at the same time? It's a _true_ miracle of science."

"Well maybe but it sure looks cool on ya."

The pale brothers simultaneously turned to stare coldly at the man in their door frame.

"Mathias." Lukas greeted frostily, "We were just talking about you."

"Kindly?"

"I wonder."

Mathias fiddled awkwardly with his lapels as Lukas and Erik ignored him. He gave a slight cough in hope of a response, and Erik finally said, "I thought only employees were allowed up here."

"Aw, come on. I had some time so I passed by." He looked curiously over the shorter boy's shoulder. "What are ya working on now, Norge?"

"Can't tell." He sent a light, almost teasing smirk his way, "Confidential."

"Who am I gonna tell?"

"He's not joking." Erik interrupted, sliding between them to access the materials on the other side of the room. "We really can't tell anyone."

* * *

><p>"Brother! Brother where are you?"<p>

Katyusha stopped at the sound of her sister's ominous voice, turning in the echoing hallway. "Natasha." She said calmly.

"Hello Yeka. Have you seen brother?"

Katyusha shook her head anxiously. "Nyet, I've been looking for him too."

Natalia growled and whipped around as if her brother would suddenly appear. She scanned the hall, but at no sight of her brother sprinted past her sister.

"If I find him, I'll tell you!" Katyusha called after her, before continuing the opposite way.

-~-:.*.:-~-

The vast expanse of the estate gave Ivan perfect cover. He pressed deeper into the wall as he heard his sisters' voices. He waited until he saw a chuckling Katyusha's shadow walking past him before stepping out from behind the bench and racing down the hall out of the massive building.

The air bit into him as he exited, and he winced at the all too familiar cold of the outside. He sighed wearily before converting to his normal happy-if-eerie visage. The cold seemed to let up the moment he stepped out of the estate, and he just barely hear a shrieked 'Brother!' before jumping into the heavy truck and barreling away.

* * *

><p>"Why would you come to a convenience store for <em>tomatoes<em>?"

"Well, you say that, but they had some didn't they?" Alfred retorted defensively.

Arthur scowled and bit into the crumbly cookie Alfred had force-fed him. "Maybe but you shouldn't have gone there first of all."

"You would've gone to the nearest place possible if you saw this guy!"

"The Italian?"

"Yeah, the older one- Lovi or something."

"Hmm."

Alfred gestured overdramatically, "He just woke up and started yelling for tomatoes. He's either insane or a pms-ing girl in disguise."

"Hmm."

"At least he's better than that guy at the register!"

"Pablo?" Arthur asked surprised.

Alfred grimaced at the name. "Yeah. Did you see him glaring at me?"

"I did, but by the way you grinned and said," Here he mocked Alfred with a nasaly, "'Thanks, _dude._' After wreaking havoc in his store, I didn't think you had noticed."

"Well- I- I mean- I thought his face was just like that."

They stopped in front of the brick-and-stone building and Arthur dropped the bag with tomatoes and other miscellaneous things necessary for the Italian. "Okay. Hopefully I won't see you."

Alfred pouted and called after the small retreating back, "I'm sure you will, Artie!"

* * *

><p>"Is it really okay?" Leo asked quietly, carefully wiping any traces of red away.<p>

Kyle raised an eyebrow, "Is what okay?"

"Well aren't givers supposed to have at least three supplicants? I've never seen anyone here."

"Technically, Ella is a supplicant," The Aussie looked up as if in deep thought, "But it isn't so hard to become one, I just need the _consent_ of three vampires so-" Kyle narrowed his eyes at Leo's small squeak. "When're you gonna get over that? Shouldn't _you_ be the one reprimanding wincers?"

The boy chuckled sheepishly, "Well I always feel like someone will hear you…"

"Who would hear something they didn't see just seconds ago?"

"Oh shut up."

* * *

><p>Mathias strolled proudly into the room, a cheeky grin in place.<p>

"Don't look so cheeky." Arthur scowled from across the table. "It's not like you even got what we were looking for."

The Dane frowned in reply, "That's not fair, Arthur. He kicked me out."

"I highly doubt a _boy_ half your size has the ability to beat you out of his lab."

"You know what I meant. He's my friend, I'm not gonna _force_ it out of him." Mathias groaned uncharacteristically and ran a hand through his hair. "Why don't you just do it yourself?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and finished the sip of tea before replying scornfully, "Yes, just walk up to his door and say, 'Hello, Dr Stefan, I'm very interested in your experiment as, you see, I _am_ it.' It's precisely because you _are _his friend."

"It could work."

"Mathias-"

"Yes, yes I know." He shrugged his shoulders in defeat and trudged up the stairs behind Arthur. "Just get it."

* * *

><p><strong>RUUSSSSIIIIAAAAAAA<strong>

**Likely not necessary introductions:**

**Katyusha/Yekaterina: Ukraine**

**Natalia/Natasha: Belarus**

**Pablo: Cuba**

**Leo: New Zealand**

**Kyle: Australia**

**Ella: Wy**

**Givers and supplicants, if not obvious, will be explained next chapter~~**

**Tell me what you liked, disliked, and what you wanna see~~**


	6. V: Windows Made of Rustred Brick

**AN: This is the chapter where things officially get serious, get bloody, and get really badly written.**

**Okay so it's not that bloody and it's not that serious (I'd like to say it's not that badly written) but it is where plot points actually exist and things get explained rather than vaguely left in the air.**

**I'm writing chapters in advance so I have the next few written mostly up, but I'm sticking to the schedule so as not to, say, leave this on hiatus for eight months.**

**I might go back and edit the old chapters eventually as well.**

**Disclaimer: From now on this disclaimer covers the entire fic: I do not, never have and won't until the wedding own Hetalia.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>Lukas Bondevik was a genius, a prodigy.<p>

This was the sentence whispered, hushed, in the halls of the Stefan Institute of Genetic Analysis, as though the man they spoke of couldn't hear their murmured comments.

Everyone knew his superior, the good Doctor Stefan himself, had given Bondevik complete and ultimate control over the project rumoured to end up defining Genetic sciences- a project that would eventually upend the way everyone saw history, legend, myth.

But those were only rumours; no one even knew what the project was.

But they still whispered about him, whispered about the boy who wasn't old enough to drink making scientific bounds they could only dream about, and had.

Lukas Bondevik must be a genius, they whispered, otherwise what was his use.

* * *

><p>Alfred fired the gun three times, emptying his barrel. He never used the gun on jobs, opting for a heavier duty rifle with a larger capacity. But he was familiar with this gun, with its six-bullet limit and its ridiculous backfire that could push any other man back an inch.<p>

He fired the gun three times at a bale of hay. It wasn't target practice; there was no use practicing with a gun he didn't use, but he wasn't putting effort into aiming anyway.

It was the first thing he had taught himself, after a severely botched first job and a broken leg. They had almost perfect senses: their eyesight and hearing were heightened, but their sense of smell was almost ridiculous. They could literally smell fear. He wasn't sure about taste, but he wasn't particularly yearning to find out.

So before any job he would calm himself down. A bubble bath and decimating a bale of hay usually did the trick.

He almost bumped into a snoozing lump as he left the sound proof basement, a questionable feature to a DC townhouse, and he winced at the close collision.

One of the Italian brothers was mumbling in his sleep on the couch, but from the back he couldn't tell which. Matthew had offered their beds but the older boy had refused in a surprisingly angry show of politeness.

A grunt and shuffle revealed the mumbling Italian to be Feliciano, who had the largest grin for no apparent reason.

It almost made Alfred feel guilty, before doing the opposite and furthering his resolve.

He was protecting people like Feliciano.

1414141414141414141414

_"Alfred, I didn't think you knew this town even had a library."_

_"I didn't until yesterday," Alfred replied honestly._

_Mr Rogers seemed surprised for a moment, but he quickly masked the expression to ask the boy what he needed._

_Alfred cleared his throat and stood on his toes, asking quietly, "I need everything you have on vampires, werewolves, demons, and any other mythical most likely evil creatures. And I don't mean fiction. I wanna see guides and information and everything legitimate you have."_

_"Um," Mr Rogers elocuted, "you can look in the old fairy tale section. It's full of old books of legend. Do you remember Pamela Whitakers?"_

_"The crazy lady who lived near my old house?"_

_"That's rude, Alfred, and yes. She donated a ton of old story books. I think the rest of what you're looking for you'll have to talk to your pa about."_

_Alfred scowled but hurried over to the minuscule section of the library, curling calligraphy endorning every book. He could barely read the first page of most books he saw, until he opened the last one._

_It was newer than the others, but only in form. It looked handwritten, and Alfred wouldn't be surprised if Pamela had written it herself._

_A worn old page fell from the middle and he guessed again. A delicate picture of a young girl with a basket was bordered in crawling script, reading something German._

_He decided she translated it._

_A familiar story._

_"_Little Red Riding Hood_," It stated simply, scratched into the page in stiff handwriting. But why would Pamela translate such a common story? Surely it was featured in her vast collection of English storybooks._

_Alfred glanced furtively behind him, warily eyeing the welcome desk._

_Mr Rogers had left, no longer in Alfred's eyesight, so Alfred wasn't in his._

_He tucked the book into his baggy jacket and darted quickly out of the library, leaving the aisle in a disarray._

_He would return it eventually._

_191919191919191919191919_

Gilbert picked up on the third call. Hehe. Payback.

_"I didn't have my phone on on the plane, Gilbert. What's the address of the bar again?" _His voice was uncharacteristically curt, most likely from being stuck on a plane for hours. He always said it was one of the few ways vampires could accidentally die.

"Don't be curt with me, Antonio. I'll have Arthur pick you up."

_"What? I don't-"_

"I'm not leaving my bar at eleven pm. Put aside your grudge for an hour." Gilbert hung up as Antonio began to protest again, greeting Arthur with a wetnap to the face and telling him how to return the favor.

"Don't kill him in the car, I'll make Elizabeta disown you," He called cheerfully after the grumbling brit.

* * *

><p>All that was left of the body was shifting sand in a blue dress. The sand dissipated into the wind, leaving a fluttering dress caught in cables.<p>

His shoulder was bleeding, not from a bite but from an attack by the wall, the scratch seeping blood onto his black shirt.

He passed a convenience store on his way from the club, and figured he could buy the tomatoes Lovino had been pressuring him for. He could buy some non-blood-encrusted shirts while he was there too.

They sold tomatoes at CVS, right?

* * *

><p>It was seven am in Italy. When Lovino usually went asleep.<p>

Alfred, the man in whose house he was staying, had mysteriously left two hours earlier, followed by his brother at midnight. Neither of them had returned. He watched drearily as his brother twisted and turned on the couch. He had a stupid grin, as always, and Lovino guessed it was because they would be seeing Ludwig tomorrow. Nothing to grin about, if you asked him. The stupid bastard spent all his time with Feli in Italy, you would've thought he'd want a break. If it weren't for the free travel, Lovino would've given his arm and other arm to stay at home while Feli left.

He pulled his blanket over his eyes when his brother started _giggling_ for Christ's sake and watched through the thin fabric Matthew's hazy form walk through the door, eerily quiet. Matthew excelled at being quiet.

The blanket tugged down and Lovino saw Matthew scan the room, eyeing the coat rack. Was he looking for Alfred's coat?

"Alfred's not back yet."

He expected a gasp or sign of surprise but Matthew turned to face him unflinching, "Oh, thank you," he said mildly. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, couldn't sleep. I'm normally up now."

"You wake up at seven?"

"Normally haven't slept yet." He answered, looking up at Matthew, moving to put his things away, before letting his head fall back on the pillow.

"Feel free to sleep in. Alfred's usually not up till past noon on weekends."

Lovino sensed not to ask what Alfred was doing at one am, because that would mean asking what Matthew was doing, and he had _some_ sense of politeness, dammit. Instead he tucked his head under the blanket again, letting his exhaustion lull him into a soft trance. He was vaguely aware of Alfred arriving home two hours later with a confident chuckle, but the next thing he knew it was morning.

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter should come next Monday!<strong>

**There will probably be four sections every chapter, some will be shippy some will be plotty some will be random comedy because what the hell.**

**I'll be rereading and editing old chapters, so if you see something that doesn't corroborate with the old chapters, check to see if it's been changed before warning me. (Though be sure to if it hasn't!)**

**By the way, if some lovely artist would grant me the HUGE honor of cover art I would so fantastically thrilled, really!**

**Hope y'all are ready to get _surious._**

**Givers and Supplicants will be explained slowly as the story progresses.**

**In response to reviews:**

**Fangirl101: Thank you! China and Japan will eventually be introduced at around the same time, and they'll have a fair amount of time together, before any romance begins, but as the story seems right now Japan will likely end up with Greece, in the end. As for England being the seme or uke, this story will likely stay T and the dynamics between Alfred and Arthur will change quite a bit and quite often so you can interpret it whichever way you please!**

**geekisthenewawesome:**** Thank you too, and for all your wonderful reviews! I've supported and written all the pairings you listed, and SuFin is a definite that will play very much into the story, and as stated before Giripan will probably come to be. As for LietPol and GerIta right now they're all just "close friends" but we never know what might happen. **

**(This AN is now a fourth the length of the chapter so I apologize for misleading word counts.)**

**Reviews and rainbows both start with r for a reason.**


	7. VI: Carmine Rain on Summer Days

**AN: It's a day late which is good in my book**

**This is my longest chapter, and it's not very long, so that gives some perspective.**

**I might add more here later, I am uploading this minutes before I leave!**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>There was a bang and a crash and Feliciano woke up.<p>

Lovino had a pillow resolutely over his head beside him, but when he rolled over, his eyes were closed and eyebrows relaxed. He was still asleep.

Feliciano slid off the coach, walking on tip toes around his brother, who had probably been up until three. The floor was silent, no squeaks to ruin his quiet, and as Feliciano neared the kitchen he began to smell the drifting scent of bitter coffee. Hazelnut, generic brand. He winced.

Matthew, shrouded in a wrinkled clump of t-shirt was pouring a hefty amount of both honey and syrup into his coffee. By the time he was done with the milk, Feliciano wondered whether there was any coffee left in the mug at all.

The tired blond plopped down on the kitchen table and gestured vaguely to the coffee machine with a mumbled, "Help yourself."

Feliciano cringed and shook his head, sitting down in front of Matthew.

He swallowed a glass of water and the gravel in his throat disappeared. "What time is it?"

"Seven."

"You're up early."

"So are you, and you don't have to work." Matthew unfurled a newspaper, glanced at the cover, and slid it under his plate. It was more of a ritual than anything, a quick glance at the headlines and the obits and he'd forget them by noon.

"I'm always up early." Feliciano's voice was heavy and tired and he reconsidered a mug of coffee. He knew he'd be bright and chipper in a few minutes, but those moments of pure agony and exhaustion were never the start to a good day. His father always told him he was short because he drank too many cortados, but Ludwig was almost a foot taller than him and he drank pure coffee twice a day.

He mused on the relation between coffee and height, deciding between salad and bacon, and watched as Matthew cleared his dishes and left them in a suddy sink.

Salad it was.

He ignored the natural host-guest conflict as he always did, making himself at home in the unfamiliar environment. By the time Lovino was up it would smell like any morning in Rome.

There was a full bag of tomatoes, of various kinds and lumpy, and he rifled through them, subconsciously humming a cheery tune.

He knew just what to make.

* * *

><p>Roderich looked a prodigy, looked barely past twenty and acted like he'd met Mozart himself. (He had, technically, met Mozart once, but it was at a bar and they were both drunk and neither knew who the other was. Either way the man punched better than one would think and even if Roderich wasn't affected he was offended and they left on bad terms and never spoke again. Chopin was a completely different matter.) And Roderich didn't mind using his youthful appearance to emphasize his skill. It wasn't nearly as impressive for a centuries-old man to play so well.<p>

Now every technique has been used more than once, and this was what Roderich learnt when he first saw Elizaveta: seemingly a beautiful french maid who sang like it was truly her element. If he hadn't already been decades old he would have believed she was twenty.

Of course, when he went backstage to speak to her he learnt this was_ in no way her element_ and she was much better at beating people half to death with whatever was near her than singing, which she was quite good at.

(Technically he couldn't be beaten half to death with a frying pan but it hurt like hell and the intent was there.)

So now, centuries later, one would think she had run out of surprises.

"Gilbert is a good friend." This was new. Roderich could swear the two hated each other.

"I knew his great-great... great... great grandfather," Elizaveta argued, "I have always trusted his family."

"I've known the actual man just as long as you, Eliza, and he can't be trusted with a box of matches let alone our son."

"He's not our son, Roderich, no matter how much you want him to be." Elizaveta sighed, a breath of resignation that should mean her defeat yet usually meant Roderich's. "And he trusts Gilbert."

Roderich raised both eyebrows in clear disbelief, "He _hates_ Gilbert."

"And yet when Gilbert found out about him he asked for help, despite being able to kill him easily."

"Only because Antonio was protecting him."

"You know Antonio owes Arthur. And even if he didn't kill him, why would he ask for help?" Elizaveta replied, finality in her tone. "Besides, it's already happened, you may as well accept it."

Roderich glanced at her over the table, knowing there was no further argument. He tapped the table with agitated disappointment and sipped his tea with pursed lips. It was an excellent display of passive-aggression.

* * *

><p>Researchers of the paranormal would look back on this year as a great migration, a weird and almost too coincidental movement of (relatively) many vampires to the capital of the great United States. They would speculate motive and coordination and the thousands of other factors made custom by their various times, but in the end, even with impeccable records and fastidious research, they would decide the action and the effect were, almost impossibly, a complete and utter coincidence.<p>

They would be wrong.

* * *

><p>Natalia had the whole damn household walking on eggshells around her for weeks after Ivan's disappearance. He hadn't disobeyed any laws or even codes of conduct so they couldn't forcibly bring their giver back, but that didn't stop the whole group from spending hours griping and moaning.<p>

The blood store, disguised as a wine cellar, beneath their estate was vast and most certainly sufficient, but without a giver's control the family ravaged a portion of it in a week.

After Natalia drank five bottles of actual 1948 wine in a sitting, Feliks resolutely locked the cellar and sat guard.

What he couldn't accomplish through strength he accomplished through puppy-dog eyes. Unsurprisingly, he was good at them.

On the fourth day Toris sat down next to him, swore he could control himself, and let his oldest friend toddle off in dogged tiredness. The light from the moon sprinkled his face as he entertained himself with dust on the floor.

Feliks swished down the hall the next morning, upbeat and scratched from the trees, and looked down at the huddle of neglected vampires. They looked like abandoned children, not ageless killing machines.

"You guys, like, really don't have the right to be more tired than me today." He giggled, most likely at nothing (Yekaterina had torn her overalls) and unlocked the cellar.

"You might wanna sleep," he stated, "We're going after Ivan tonight."

* * *

><p>Alfred fell out of his bed at noon and woke up an hour later. He grumbled himself to the kitchen where he enjoyed a nice cold pot of hazelnut coffee (the best kind) and devoured the leftovers of a salad he must have made at some point.<p>

There was a note on his door, written in large loopy handwriting, saying Feliciano and Lovino had left to meet Ludwig and Gilbert.

He wondered briefly who Feliciano and Lovino were before remembering and dashing to his room to pull on pants.

He chuckled as the rest of the night washed over him.

Sure, he'd lost a shirt and gained an enemy in Pablo-the-hostile-cashier-guy, but he'd also killed a vampire and, even better, he'd gained a date. ("It's not a date," His subconscious gripes in a familiar Canadian accent, "You irritated a man into conversation for fifteen minutes." As always, he doesn't hear it.)

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Arthur... Kirklake? Something like that." He ran his hand through the hair on his neck, smoothing and patting it until he felt a slight lump. Dried blood.

He felt like he was on a soap opera.

He hoped to God he was the protagonist. Any warranty on the continuation of his life was welcome, any assurance or guarantee.

But that wasn't the way life worked, he wasn't a fictional character and there wasn't an audience rooting for his survival. In fact, the opposite. There were probably hundreds of vampires out there aching for his defeat, and he had no hope if a powerful one chose to seek him out.

He ran his fingers over the clump of hair, brushing red dust onto his shoulders, and decided to focus on the small spectrum of things. His hair was dirty, his sheets were stained, and someone had to pull out the cots for the Vargas's.

* * *

><p><strong>If there are some characters you'd like specifically to be returned to next chapter, feel free to say so.<strong>

**In response to reviews:**

**aphrodite931:**** Don't worry about being mean, I love constructive criticism. The plot and the setting will be revealed alongside each other, but thank you- I've decided to stabilize the setting a bit before introducing more characters.**

**kohachiproductions: Yeeeesss, cover!**

**Love some reviews, next chapter Monday/Tuesday of next week!**


	8. VII: Amaranth Moon

**AN: So I came back to look at all my fics, and I realized just how much i missed writing this guy. Anyway, none of the plot has changed, and i still have most of it written out in snippets on Yarny, so, you know. How've you been, guys? It's great to see you.**

**Maria: Seychelles**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>You make me lose my purpose, and my purpose is all that I am. You make me lose myself, Francis, and I cannot let that happen. I love you, but I cannot be with you,<em> She whispered. And then she left.

Francis wished that was all he could remember, that he could hate her for leaving him, that he could call her selfish.

But it was only a fragment of their time together, and he would never forget. It was absolutely a curse, he knew, but he was further cursed to see it as a blessing. He would never look back and see an evil woman.

Even six centuries later.

The woman sitting next to him had the same dirty blond hair, but rather than be overwhelmed by nostalgia, he only felt anger at her open window.

Francis loved planes, unlike Antonio. He adapted quickly and graciously to new technology, and he was always happy to rub it in the Spaniard's face. But his favorite part of the culture revolution was the ability to hide from _glaring ultraviolet radiation_ at ease, which for some incomprehensible reason his flying companion was not taking advantage off, despite being asleep.

He had already tried to shove it shut from his aisle seat, but a brush of the woman's shoulder had proven her apparently a master at the art of sleep-kicking in the crotch.

Naturally, he had growled, and _naturally_, the baby in front of him had gone into hysterics.

Francis loved planes, but he hated the people on them.

* * *

><p>"Arthur. As always we're magnetized to each other." Maria appeared next to Arthur, a small rustle in the wind the only hint to her appearance. Arthur tried not to look surprised.<p>

"Please don't say that," He scowled, "You sound all too much like someone I've just met."

She hummed and cocked her head, her eyes turning studious as she drunk in his tired eyes. "You're normally not so exhausted at four am."

"It's been a full night."

"So I've heard."

"What do you mean you've _heard_, Gilbert couldn't speak so fast."

Maria laughed, patting down her turquoise skirt, and most certainly not answering the question. "Well I'll do you a favor, Artie. Because I like you so much. I'll take Toni and Francis to the bar if you do me one small thing in return."

"It never ends up worth it with you."

She laughed, as though he had been joking, "You're seeing Mathias in the morning, right?"

Arthur glanced at her warily, but answered slowly anyway, "Yes..."

"So just pick up something from me for him from, well, anywhere." She explained easily. "Actually, I know a store that holds it. Do you have some paper? Of course you do. I'll just write it down."

Certain side-effects of Maria included having one's effects disappear most likely from aforementioned one's pockets into her hands, in which they would be treated delicately and would likely gain a severe case of Stockholm's syndrome so strong they would incite a rebellion upon being returned to their original owner, if they were returned at all. It was this side effect that brought Arthur's notebook into Maria's hand, and once returned, he could swear the pad of paper felt thrice as heavy, as though soaked in water.

_Christ_, Arthur thought, _what ink does she use_.

* * *

><p>Once his roommate had angstily trudged up the stairs, Arthur pulled out what he'd bought at the store.<p>

He had no idea what Mathias needed with allergy medicine, obsolete to both of them, but he knew better than not to follow Maria's request.

Not, of course, that he hadn't been tempted. Allergy medicine was far too expensive.

He ignored his light pocket and walked to Mathias's room, looking again at the forty dollar box before knocking with obvious reluctance.

Fifteen minutes later they were both looking down at the box of Zyrtec, phantom itches on their noses.

"Maybe it's a gift. Maybe Maria gives gifts now."

"Maria doesn't give gifts. Stop being an optimist."

Mathias sighed and mussed his already very mussed hair. The box was on the table between them, where they'd felt the need to confer. It was a serious situation, and never before had Mathias's eyebrows been pulled so deep.

"Let's just leave it for now. Maybe she'll pick it up."

Arthur was barely a compromiser, but it was nearing dawn. Mathias had begun to yawn hours ago. "Sure," He complied, feeling the easy route slide beneath his feet. "I'm sure its use will come up eventually.

* * *

><p>"Thank you so much, Kyle."<p>

"You'll always be welcome."

And then they continued washing dishes, a daily ritual done, and Leo pretended he didn't feel guilty and Kyle pretended he felt half as happy.

Because Kyle didn't understand how Leo saw himself as the guilty one, and he didn't understand how even when Leo joked or acted rowdy or drank half the country under the table he felt the need to thank Kyle every day for over five years when Kyle had done it for no decent reason.

He didn't understand why Leo was thanking him every morning over a cup of coffee when Kyle should be apologizing every day instead.

* * *

><p>Francis regained his love for humanity at about the same time he burst into Gilbert's bar with a flamboyant wave of his arms, Antonio by his side, at five thirty. In the morning; the am hours; the time when <em>no one in their right mind was awake<em>. Morning twilight was ending behind them and Antonio trudged resignedly past Francis's entering pose into the back room.

He landed on top of Gilbert, who Francis was sad to see had missed his entrance.

Gilbert moaned at the human-shaped pile of bricks now present atop his body and slapped weakly at Antonio. "This place is closed for nine hours, guys, just let me sleep them."

"I agree," Antonio grumbled, even as Francis watched them (silently judging). Such was his curse, to be best friends with two nocturnal creatures. He'd excuse Antonio but Gilbert wouldn't be so pale if he acted like a human and went outside for once. Somewhere in the back of his mind he acknowledged he was an albino, but Francis couldn't hear it through the cacophony of everything else always present back there.

"I don't agree," Francis said haughtily, "And if you refuse to enjoy the day, I can do it without you."

"There _is_ no day, Fran, it's not even six," Gilbert grumbled from beneath the already snoring Spaniard. "Now either get over here or get out."

"I respectfully choose out."

Gilbert waved his hand apathetically and pushed Antonio into a less breath-restricting position. "Have fun."

* * *

><p><strong>No Alfred this chapter, sorry guys. That just means you'll get way too much of him and his forebodenness next chapter. Even more introductions next chapter as well!<strong>

**Reviews will keep updates steady! Nah I wouldn't blackmail you guys like that, but they're p nice anyway**


	9. VIII: The Coquelicot Consequence

**AN: Hello lovelies**

**there will be some more updates in august so this is not going to be left alone for 13 months do not worry**

**haha... have fun... don't blame me for anything...**

**enjoy**

* * *

><p>The sky had been a murky gray all afternoon, the wind whipping at everyone's ankles, the city moving faster even in its usual schedule. It was always this way on cold stormy days, so Gilbert tended to turn the lights on a bit earlier, letting people with bitten red cheeks and shivering hands clamber into the bar, piling into booth seats or around tables. He found it curious, as he himself would do the opposite, escaping into his home before the eventual rain came.<p>

But who was he to refuse customers?

Lovino was idling on the counter, playing with a shot glass and staring out the window. Every so often he would let off another sigh, and Gilbert finally couldn't ignore the horde of worried glances being thrown at him by patrons.

"Lovi," He said gently, snatching the glass from his fingers and slipping it with the others, "You're not actually allowed to be in this bar, you know. But I am doing the _very_ selfless thing and letting you stay here, because you refuse to go into the back with our brothers, so could you _please_ do _me_ the honor of _not drawing attention to yourself?_"

Lovino finally pulled his gaze from the window, furrowing his brow and snapping, "What? I literally haven't spoken a word," before dissolving into angry Italian.

The albino raised an eyebrow in response, which only seemed to frustrate him more. Lovino groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in the hopes that when he opened them, Gilbert would be gone.

He had never been lucky.

"Fine," He grumbled, crossing his arms on the counter, "What do you want."

Gilbert smirked smugly and whipped his symbolic towel over his shoulder. "I want you to either get in the back with Feli, or get in the back _anyway_, to make space for paying customers. Unless you want to wait tables."

"I want to wait tables."

"What?" Gilbert looked up at Lovino, who was staring determinedly up at him, "Do you hate your brother that much?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed, "_No_, I just don't want to watch him _fawning_ over your fucking brother." When Gilbert didn't respond, he simply slipped off the stool and quickly finagled his way behind the bar. "Just tell me what to take and where to take it."

"Quickly," he added. "Bastard."

* * *

><p>Alfred was lying on the cot he had finally dragged into the living room when Matthew came home, dumping several bags of groceries onto the kitchen island. "Hey, Mattie!" He called from the mattress, not looking away from the ceiling. "Look, I got the cots out!"<p>

Matthew yawned idly, removing frozen foods from their containers and glancing at his brother. "Yeah. Did you dress them?"

"I figured I deserved a short break after all that work."

"Of course," Matthew replied calmly, stacking the tea next to the bread box. "Did you write anything today?"

Alfred groaned, swinging off the bed and cracking his back. "Like, a chapter, but it's all crap. I'm probably gonna delete it and rewrite it tomorrow."

The Canadian shrugged, lethargic, but smiled easily. "You should let me read it, see if it's salvageable."

"Of course, baby bro." Alfred grinned leaning onto the island as Matthew unpacked. "But not tonight. I need to add this one scene. The first encounter, the meet-cute, ya know?" He played with a banana, fiddling with the stem until it would be impossible to actually open the thing. "I'm thinking go with something so normal it's odd. Like, they meet at a grocery store or work or something."

"It's not a meet-cute if it's boring."

Alfred pouted and dropped the mutilated banana, "It's not the _setting_, dude, it's the actual meeting. Their carts bump into each other or one of them has an extra of what the other one needs. You know. Meeting. _Cutely_."

Matthew gave Alfred a charitable grin, "I'll pretend to care if you do the frigging sheets already."

* * *

><p>"So, Arthur," Alfred said inquisitively, making sure to roll every r, "Would you call this a meet-cute?"<p>

Arthur glared at him over his coffee cup, uneasily replying, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm getting coffee, Arthur, I'm exhausted. I need it. It _fuels me."_

"But why are you here _now. _Are you stalking me?"

Alfred gasped dramatically, bringing a hand to his chest. "Arthur, this is purely coincidence! Which brings me back to the point. Is this a cute way to meet?"

"We're not meeting, Alfred. Much to my chagrin we already know one another." Arthur knit his brows in mock concern and said quietly, "You- you do know that, right, Alfred?"

"_Yes, _thank you, I do know we've met. It's for my characters. I can't grasp the situation where they meet each other."

"Your characters?" Maria asked, edging into the conversation and reminding Arthur she was there with him. At her words, however, he as well grasped Alfred's meaning.

"_You're_ a writer? Oh god. I think I've gone faint. I swear I can see the death of literature before my very eyes."

Alfred frowned but Maria chuckled, watching with bright eyes as Alfred began justifying his work.

He was arguing about the artistic style of modern chatspeak when she interrupted him and Arthur, waving her phone, which was receiving a call with an inaudible hum. "It's time for me to go. Arthur, remember what I said." Arthur nodded seriously, catching the name on her screen. He wasn't sure why Ivan was calling Maria, but he knew it had to with what she'd told him. Or rather, warned him.

_There's a war coming, Arthur. And it's heading straight for you._

* * *

><p>Don't get him wrong; Siberia is as cold as Siberia. It's literally so cold that no other metaphor can capture how cold it is. Frankly, Ivan had no idea how Feliks survived at night, but then again, he had no idea what it was like to have bullet proof skin. But Ivan had been born in Russia, and spent almost his entire life in his isolated mansion on the outskirts of Siberia, so stepping off the airplane at JFK was an abrupt surprise. Cities weren't new to him, but the skyscrapers, most of which hadn't stopped at scraping, were all around him, engulfing him in the reality of his situation. He shuffled nervously to the taxi queue, pulling out his ancient phone and carefully dialing the number he had written down.<p>

The line barely rung before he heard a small snap. "Hallo?" He said nervously, ducking down. "Maria?"

"_Privet_." A clipped voice responded, "Have you made it to the hotel?"

"Nyet. Am waiting for taxi now."

"I'll be there in half an hour, take your time," there were some muffled clicks on the line and she added, "Wang Yao will be there tomorrow, I'll be sure to brief you before he arrives."

"Okay." Ivan glanced as the taxi slid up beside him, frustrated driver waving at him.

"Excellent. See you soon."

* * *

><p>The tangy scent of blood reached Leo's nose blocks away from Kyle's house, stale but newly exposed, unlike the packs he received. Not wanting to make a scene, Leo didn't speed up, only walked at his normal pace, but as the scent only grew stronger he slipped the keys between his fingers, drawing in another breath.<p>

If it weren't so terrifying it would be irresistible, and he forced himself to take deep breaths, keeping his eyes from radiating anything. As he finally reached the house, however, he could no longer hold back, and he tore through the door and up the stairs in seconds, all the while murmuring no like a mantra.

The door to Kyle's room stood ajar, casting a shadow into the younger man's room.

Kyle's room had been painted white, pure white, like a fresh piece of paper. The first time Leo had stepped into the room, he'd remarked snarkily about the minimal furniture and the monochrome theme, but Kyle only laughed it off, citing fresh starts and new beginnings. _"After all, isn't that why you came to me?"_

Leo hadn't responded, too nervous to say that wasn't really the main reason. He'd only made fun of him more, told him everything was going to stain.

He hadn't been disfigured, or anything, but his skin was pale and depleted, not tan and full of life as he always had been. When Leo brushed a hand along his arm, it felt cold, stiff, lifeless. No matter what he did, Kyle wouldn't respond, and Leo laughed miserably.

The walls were splattered with blood, bright and striking against the walls, and Leo laughed more at the sight.

He thought he'd been laughing, anyway, when his body started shaking, breath coming out in short gasps. "Well," he murmured, brushing a first and only kiss against his temple. "I guess there's no such thing as a new beginning."

* * *

><p><strong>Alright yay lovi's waiting tables that'll be fun right<strong>

**there should be at least two more updates this month, and yes, that was some plot you spied there.**

**Reviews, etc, are encouraged and appreciated. Happy weekend.**


	10. IX: Warnings of Cardinal Fury

**Warning: Plot detected**

* * *

><p>Arthur sidled into his usual spot at the bar next to a clearly underage boy in a server's uniform.<p>

"Bloody mary" He requested calmly as Gilbert approached.

"Ran out of celery"

The boy peaked up, casting Gilbert a dubious glance, "Are you sure? I thought I saw a whole bag earlier."

"Could you get me one then, Lovi?" Gilbert asked with an icy smile.

Sighing loathsomely, Lovi dragged himself off the chair and trudged into the back room, never shy about his complaints. Arthur watched bemused as the waiter melodramatically left the main area before turning back to Gilbert. "What's the problem?"

"Would you like the list? Julia's dead, Ivan's in town, Maria's been talking cryptic shit all week and Mr-vampire-talk with the fake ID is right over there." Gilbert finished with a neck jerk to the blond in the corner of the bar. "I don't think we're gonna have celery for a couple weeks."

"_Gilbert,_" Arthur intoned, "You're a giver, you can't shirk that responsibility."

"It's risky for me too, cut me some slack. Can't you go to the bank just for one day?"

Arthur took a quick glance of the bar, settling on a young girl for a moment before moving onto a familiar face. "You're asking me to take the dangerous route to save your own arse."

"I'm a shitty friend, Artie."

Arthur shot one last glare at the bartender, who had moved on to serving his legitimate customers before moving towards a stool further down the bar.

* * *

><p>Alfred watched wide-eyed as Arthur sat down next to him. He wasn't shocked, per se, as he totally hadn't been making up the vibes from the past couple days, but it was a bit of heel face turn on Arthur's part. "Artie. AK 47. Arturo. What's up?"<p>

"Eventually, a scotch."

Alfred nodded, sliding his finger around the rim of his glass. "Not a scotch fan. I like my drinks sour with a sweet center. Kind of like I like my men. The ones that-"

"You know, Alfred," Arthur interrupting with a cunning smile, "You're acting like I've rejected you when you haven't even asked me out."

"Oh." Alfred blushed in a very dignified manner, "What? I mean. Do you wanna- lunch? Tomorrow?"

"Lunch doesn't work for me. But if you give me your phone number, we can arrange something for dinner?"

"That sounds great." Alfred mumbled, fumbling through his messenger bag for a pen. "You know, Arthur, I am a catch and all, but I really wasn't expecting you to agree to a date with me."

Arthur smiled half genuinely. "You should have pulled the author card a bit earlier."

"So you're only going out with me for my job?"

"Well," Arthur commented with a glance, "It's certainly not for your sense of style."

Alfred laughed, filling the room unabashedly. So maybe he was nearly twenty and wore superhero t-shirts. They were making a comeback.

* * *

><p>Lukas sniffled miserably as he wobbled from his bed to the bathroom, sneezing twice into his now horrific elbow. There was a light knock on the door and he hacked out a welcome as he wiped away the war area.<p>

His brother, unsurprisingly, walked in with, surprisingly, Mathias. For completely justified reasons Lukas quickly spun to face the bathroom before either of them could see him in his state. Shuffling his face into position he sneezed out, "What are you doing here?"

Erik didn't respond, but Mathias hurried to Lukas's side, moving his hand out of the way. "That doesn't matter right now. Are you alright?"

"He got a cold in summer. Unbelievable." Erik responded blithely, stacking tea cups precariously onto a tray.

Lukas glared at Erik, "It's just allergies."

"Oh-" Mathias started mysteriously, not expanding until he had rifled something from his bag. "Will this help?"

Lukas raised his eyebrows at the box of allergy medicine, but he nodded dubiously. "I suppose. But you probably bought that for your own allergies, so don't give them to me out of some misplaced sense of selflessness." The effect was slighted dampened by his current speech impediment- nasal congestion. Mathias rose an eyebrow, and Lukas knew he had lost the argument. "Whatever. This stuff's expensive anyway." He snagged the box and set it down on the bed as he sat down beside it. "I guess I owe you a favor now?"

"Well," Mathias replied, "since you mention it..."

Lukas frowned.

"One of my clients is playing a scientist in an upcoming film and she doesn't want to show up to a press release totally ignorant on the subject so I was wondering if you'd let her wander around your lab for a day or so?" Mathias spit out breathlessly.

"Not all science is interchangeable. If she's playing a physicist it really wouldn't help her."

"She's gonna be a biologist, just like you."

Lukas sighed, then sneezed, then looked up at his hesitant friend. "I'm really not allowed to let people in..."

The allowance was practically dripping off Lukas's voice and Mathias quickly rushed to add, "She's totally harmless! I promise."

"Alright..." Lukas conceded, "But you and I are to be present at all times."

"Aw, you're finally letting me in the lab?"

Lukas picked up the allergy medicine and sneezed his way into the bathroom, curtly retorting, "Only because I can't be trusted not to strangle her for messing with my things."

* * *

><p>Maria locked eyes with Ivan as he stumbled into the lobby, all thick limbs and slow stride. She gave him a small nod to confirm she was herself and twirled the red ribbon in her hair. It danced through the air like water and drifted to the direction of the harbor. Standing to greet the burly Russian, she smiled with an honest twinkle in her eye. "How is everyone, медведь?"<p>

Ivan murmured a standard response in Russian, hugging the smaller girl tightly. "But also busy, and bored. Paradoxes, all of them."

"You should have flown directly to Washington. You know how I hate to travel."

Ivan waved his hand nonchalantly. "If I drive ten hours to Novosibirsk, you drive six with rest stop every three miles. Come on. No time to waste. We can talk in room." He hauled himself to the check-in desk where he stole a mint and rang the bell. "Slow service for such a fast city."

Maria rolled her eyes. "The room's ready already. I had plenty of time to spend as you were hours in a cab."

"One hour," Ivan frowned, "You just got here fast."

"That's what I do." Maria chirped, dragging Ivan onto the elevator. As they waited for the doors to close Maria watched her ribbons curiously. They were splayed out against her dress now, and she sighed as she realized what an idiot she'd been.

Ivan turned, curious and she shook her head. "Our good friend Arthur's making a fool of himself."

"Doing something stupid?"

"As usual," Maria muttered, tossing a braid behind her back. "But god, I hope he doesn't get himself killed."

They stepped off the elevator in unison, gliding down the hall towards the suite at the very end. As Maria let herself in she gladly noted the gratuitously large dinner table. Throwing her bag onto it, she nodded to Ivan and sat down at the far end. "Now that you're finally here we may be ready to begin." She plucked a large map from her bag and spread it across the table, pinning it with various objects in the corners. She lamented the lack of a computer for a moment before moving on. "The EMEP shouldn't be a problem but I'll speak to Heracles about getting them on our side. We don't have a lot of support that basin right now."

"Maria, you know I believe everything you say but-"

"Don't worry," She clenched her jaw for a moment, "I'm not approaching this optimistically, Ivan. But if you want to survive, if you want someone else to, civil war is our only option."

Ivan gazed at the map, littered with tiny red and green pockmarks, and didn't respond.

* * *

><p><strong>Maria is not in a relationship with Ivan I feel like I should make that clear now.<strong>

**I'm ending this chapter here because the next most important segment should be separate from this one, but the next chapter will introduce the most significant plot point so if this is still going a bit slow for you stick around for one more chapter before making any decisions. I strongly encourage comments/criticisms**

**Also yes, previous chapters are still in the process of being edited.**


	11. X: The Crimson Inferno

**AN: This chapter has been halfway completed since before i posted the first one eighteen years ago**

* * *

><p>Maria awoke with a twitch, registering for a moment that her dream had been just so, and tumbled off the bed onto the hotel carpet. As much as she loved her home, beds were a blessing she did not take for granted. She walked over to the other bed in the room and snapped her fingers obnoxiously until Ivan woke up. "You stink. Take a shower while I pack up, I'm not staying in a car with you for six hours smelling like that."<p>

Ivan grumbled incoherently and eventually complied.

The smell of water coiled out of the bathroom and danced under Maria's nose, and she took a second from packing to relish it. The hotel shampoo smelt like ginger, and she smiled. Curling up the map only took a moment, and she shoved it into her bag along with innumerable notes taken on tiny sheets of paper.

She swung her legs back and forth as she waited for Ivan, whistling along with the song stuck in her head. They'd be in DC by noon, she reckoned. She played with the ribbons in her hair and frowned. Arthur could take care of himself, she was certain. There was no need to worry.

* * *

><p>Francis wandered down the street happily. The smell of large cities always enticed him and he smiled at each passerby that met his eye; sometimes, if he was tempted, with a flirtatious wink.<p>

As he passed by one man, blonde, with an expression unsuited for his young appearance, he raised an eyebrow and gave a companionable nod.

The man frowned, and for a moment Francis thought he was mistaken. However, after a second he gave a polite nod in return and waved as he walked away.

Francis remained curious for another moment before returning to his walking and winking.

* * *

><p>Yao Wang closed the website with a frown, the image of Lukas Bondevik seared onto his brain. It seemed if he wanted any help with his current experiment, he was the best consultant he would find, but he had already said he wouldn't be able to leave the country for several months. He opened his email again and tacked a reply to the curt message Lukas had sent him a week earlier. After hitting send and realizing the time in Washington would be impossibly early, he distracted himself by opening a new tab. Chewing on his nail for a moment, he finally entered expedia.<p>

* * *

><p>In an almost queasy way, Arthur had genuinely enjoyed dinner with Alfred. If the conversation had been a bit odd, it had never ceased, and he almost felt uncertain about dragging him to the harbor afterward. Biting wasn't going to hurt him at all, he reminded himself. It may have been a while, but drawing blood was like riding a bike. And the way Alfred had spoken to Gilbert a week earlier, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he was another twilight-obsessed teenager who romanticized the undead. Reassured and resupplied with conviction, Arthur finally stopped walking, drawing just short of the water.<p>

"Well," he said lamely, "This is it. My favorite spot in the city."

Alfred took in the dingy surroundings, the nearby dumpster, and grinned cheekily. "Real sight, Artie."

Arthur took Alfred's hand again, smiling coyly, "I like secluded areas."

He didn't really, and there was a mosquito buzzing by his neck (futilely, he thought sardonically), but he hadn't cleaned his apartment in days and he was feeling uncharacteristically self conscious.

He realized that Alfred wouldn't initiate anything, bashful as he pretended not to be, and lunged impulsively towards him, his hands dangling uselessly by his side before he placed them on Alfred's shoulders.

Their lips pressed together in a decidedly unromantic manner and Arthur began to regret not going straight to biting before Alfred finally seemed to snap, surging against Arthur and forcing him off balance.

Arthur gasped and Alfred took advantage; before Arthur could respond, he stabilized himself by grabbing onto Alfred's hips, brushing by something hot in the process.

For a moment the object was only slightly uncomfortable, but Arthur's hand began to sear in pain, and he gasped and shoved Alfred away from him.

"God, Alfred, what the- Did you just burn me?" Arthur staggered back, holding his burning hand and swearing. He looked up for a response from the other man, but his surprised expression had been replaced by one of absolute shock.

The sting had barely receded when Arthur heard a loud click and looked up, only to stare down the barrel of a gun, Alfred on the other side.

* * *

><p><em>The story started like the typical version, with a young girl in a red cape going to see her grandmother: advised by her mother not to stray from the path. However, after the nameless girl had left her home she arrived immediately at her grandmother's home. After deciphering the handwriting of the first few pages, Alfred had started reading faster, and he quickly realized he must have skipped a page, or more likely, that one had been torn out.<em>

_He frowned, but continued reading._

_"Grandmother, are your ears quite big?"_

_"That I could hear you coming, dear."_

_"Grandmother, are your ears quite large?"_

_"That I could see your smile, dear."_

_"Grandmother, have I come at the wrong time?"_

_Alfred read the line again, but he wasn't mistaken. Maybe Pamela had translated it wrong. After this question, the wolf ate Little Red Riding Hood, as usual, and everything seemed normal. Even the hunter eventually arrived, stabbing the wolf with a silver hunting knife and gutting it to release the girl. He cringed as the wolf was filled with rocks and sewn back up, but he hadn't been expecting anything pretty._

_There were several pages remaining, however, and he read greedily. With the traditional story nearly finished, the translated one diverged, and on the last page the hunter killed the girl, as well. He then walked out of the grandmothers cabin to the sound of the wolf crying and screaming in pain as the sun rose. Gruesome, naturally, but it didn't really help Alfred. What the story most naturally pointed to was a werewolf, but it hadn't been a full moon when he'd been at the barn._

_He groaned, throwing the papers onto the ground. He'd go back to the library the next day._

* * *

><p>"Alfred, <em>what<em> are you doing."

He glanced at the gun. "This is it. This is what burned you."

"You took that on our date?"

"I've devoted my entire life to hunting vampires" Alfred replied stonily, gun unwavering.

"What, all ten years of it?" Arthur spit out, unable to control the light glow ebbing from his eyes. So Alfred wasn't just some teenage fanatic. He refused to panic, but it was difficult remembering how to fear for his life after centuries taking it for granted.

Alfred furrowed his brow, tightening the grip on his gun, "Funny. Doesn't change the fact that I know how to kill you." He tilted his head towards the gun and added, "Silver, washed with holy water this morning. And the bullets too."

"Holy water doesn't do anything, you twat, half the Catholic Church is undead."

Alfred raised his eyebrows, cataloguing the information. "Well, I knew one of them was hurting you, wasn't gonna take a gamble on which."

"Alfred, hold on, listen to me-" Arthur moved to step forward, stopping when Alfred clutched the gun harder, "I'm not going to hurt you-"

"Not anymore-"

"I was never going to, Alfred-"

"Oh, okay, so you weren't going to bite me just now?"

"There were extenuating circumstances, Alfred, this would have been the first time I bit a person in decades."

"Don't I feel special." Alfred bit out angrily.

Arthur held his hands up in concession, calmly speaking. "For the past forty some years I've been depending on various people, called givers, to supply me with blood, generally from people donating to blood banks or us directly. Recently, this city has been disturbed- by you, partially- and I haven't been able to depend on them in the past few days. That doesn't mean I was going to kill anyone for blood. I only would have taken enough to last until I can depend on Gilbert again. You would just feel like you'd drunk a bit too much vodka." If he could convince Alfred to put down the gun, there was no way for him to be outran. The American may appear more physically fit, but Arthur was much faster than he appeared.

But Alfred didn't move. To the contrary, he seemed to further his resolve, and Arthur pleaded hollowly for a miracle.

In an ironic twist, God seemed to be on his side as after a moment there was a loud clang from the dumpster, and Alfred foolishly turned to inspect it.

Taking the god-given chance he had been given, Arthur dashed in the opposite direction, barely making distance from where he had been standing when he felt a rough tug on his arm and was thrown onto the ground. Coughing harshly, Arthur let out a ragged breath and slowly opened his eyes to see Alfred standing over him, gun still in hand.

Arthur hadn't been in a fight in years, but he was certain he should still be stronger than an ordinary human.

"What a-" he coughed, "transformation. A week ago you were flirting with me, and here you are, ready to kill me."

Alfred knelt down, one knee digging into Arthur's sternum, and Arthur winced at the sensation. Broken bones would heal quickly, but they weren't pleasant in the process.

"A week ago you weren't trying to eat me."

"I wasn't trying to _kill _you- you may as well do me the same privilege." Arthur glanced up to Alfred, whose expression hadn't smoothed since the gun had been drawn. "Alfred, _please."_

"No."

Arthur struggled, and for a moment couldn't believe he was in fact struggling and glared angrily at Alfred. "Why! What would happen if you let me go?"

"I'll die before I lose the opportunity to see one of you die."

"How many of us do you think there are?" Arthur shouted, eyes blazing a furious green, "Six in the world? Ten? Think, Alfred, for once. You have seen firsthand how far we will go, that we would kill and be killed, rather than have our secret revealed and yet there are still thousands possibly _millions_ of stories, legends, accounts of us out there- and those are only the bad ones! We are _everywhere_, Alfred, and if you think we weren't in World War Two or 9/11 then you are so _so_ wrong because you have proof of the opposite right before your eyes." Arthur snapped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth as he snarled, "I have news for you, Alfred, and it's not good. You do not have a chance of killing a percentage of us, even if you wouldn't be killed in the process." His eyes were burning now, more than their glow, which had slightly simmered, pooling at the rims of his irises like furious tears. "At least, not without my help."

Alfred faltered at the statement, but he didn't lower the gun. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur sighed. The boy was possibly moronic, but his strength was undeniable, and Arthur maintained his paper thin patience long enough to reply, "I'll help you. In 'hunting vampires', not that we're animals, _by the way. _It only makes sense I have a couple enemies I'd rather see dead than, well, less dead. And you're not nearly as informed as you think you are; I can give you information, train your reflexes, and you keep me untied to any deaths."

Alfred frowned, clearly unconvinced and Arthur desperately added, "You think we're all monsters, don't you? Why does it matter who you kill as long it's a vampire?"

"And you expect me to believe you don't kill me after I let you go?"

"I am proposing a plan," Arthur ground out, starting to grow tired of the American's obstinance, "That would make us mutually reliant on each other."

Finally, the tip of the gun wavered, pointed at Arthur's stomach rather than his neck, and the vampire refrained from expressing his relief. "Are you agreeing?"

Alfred nodded and held out his hand. Hesitantly, Arthur put his own hand in the larger one. Alfred pulled him up off the ground, never letting go of his hand.

"Hold on." Alfred pulled a small silver band from his pocket. "This will hurt."

Before Arthur could protest, Alfred shoved the band over his hand onto his wrist, unleashing a overwhelming burning sensation over his entire hand, although nothing appeared to change visibly. Hissing from pain, Arthur withdrew his hand from Alfred's, pawing at the band with his other hand before burning it as well.

"I said _hold on_," Alfred retorted, pulling Arthur's unbound hand away from the band. He slipped a larger band of cotton underneath the silver band, which barely separated the silver and his skin. "Now," he said, holding up a string attached to the cotton band, "You get more than a yard away from me and I tear off the cotton. Sure, it won't kill you, but have fun getting away from me long enough to take it off."

Arthur gaped, appalled. He was being bloody _leashed _by an arrogant boy. He cut off a strangled noise of protest, refusing to lose his dignity along with his freedom. "And how does a twelve year old boy even afford this much silver?"

"It's an alloy. And cut it with the age jokes, would you? It's not my fault you're old."

* * *

><p><strong>In case it isn't obvious, this is also the longest chapter to date. (nearly three times the size of some earlier ones!)<strong>

**Please review! Whatever you have to say is welcome.**

**Also chapters likely won't be coming this quickly in the future, but, like I said, this one was already near completion.**


	12. XI: The Words in Mahogany

**AN: I am now officially phoneless in ever-changing countries in europe, so the good news is that i am writing a lot, however barely able to upload stuff.**

**enjoy**

* * *

><p>Arthur rubbed his wrist, still somewhat raw from the bracelet, and he shot a glare at Alfred's retreating back as he sat down wearily on an old chair. The chair was chipped on the edges, as if someone had chewed on it, and rope was twined throughout the pattern on the back of the chair, too thick for binding someone to it. Likely for lifting something up, he assumed.<p>

"A bunker? Isn't this a bit much?"

Alfred turned to give him a pointed look, a mug of coffee in his hand. He paused to slowly sip it, watching as Arthur crossed and uncrossed his legs in annoyance.

"Not gonna lie to you, Artie, it really is. I spent my first book on this place. Had to tell Mattie I spent it on champagne for a week straight. Not helping the reputation, really."

Arthur leaned forward, genuinely curious, "So Matthew doesn't know about this? About this... delusion, of yours."

"I'm not delusional," Alfred replied drily, "Or dumb. I know I have abnormal strength and I know how to use it."

Arthur took the time to observe more of his surroundings. The tail end of the rope winded throughout the room and disappeared behind a bale of hay. There were four targets in an isolated range on the other side of the basement. In the corner, on a small night stand, sat a lonely keurig.

"And now I have a man on the inside."

Arthur rolled his eyes and coughed, "I'm not a 'man on the inside', Alfred. For one thing, we're not a society, for another, I'm not helping you blindly. I'm not going to help you kill my friends."

"Your enemies, on the other hand."

Arthur stood, gliding to the table where Alfred had sat down. "Don't think for a second you can kill my enemies." He accompanied the statement with a purposeful stony expression.

Alfred's hand wandered close to Arthur, a support for the intimidating posture he was attempting to pull off. "So how exactly are you gonna help me?" Arthur idly noticed a small brown button dangerously close to his hand. He would have itched to press it, if he'd been just slightly more human.

"We'll start by trying to find out why you have inhuman strength. Most probably something genetic, possibly first generation likely older." Arthur continued, "Then we'll properly train it. You fight like you're fighting a human, not a vampire. I'll teach you which strengths to always be on the guard for, and which weaknesses to always attack."

Alfred laughed, high pitched and frenetic, cutting in, "Inhuman strength? This is just dedication, Artie."

Arthur rolled his eyes, smirking. "Denial won't get you very far. So, are you dedicated enough to admit there's something evil inside of you?"

Silence crept into the basement, and Alfred glared coldly at Arthur, his muteness serving Arthur's purpose. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"You asked if Mattie knew about this. Of course he doesn't. I wouldn't get my little brother in trouble."

* * *

><p>Unbeknownst to Alfred, Matthew had fortuitously left the apartment moments before his brother arrived with Arthur, slipping down the street in a carefully coincidental maneuver. He walked with a slow pace, listening intently. After he was certain Alfred had returned home, he turned onto the adjacent walking path. His steady stride slowly accumulated to a full blown sprint.<p>

By the time he had reached the river, he had started to sweat.

He skidded to a halt somewhat over-dramatically, looking down at the water and raising a single eyebrow.

Eventually, a young black-haired girl bobbed to the surface, letting out a large gasp and sucking in gulps of air.

He raised the eyebrow higher.

Iris grinned in that ineffable way and played with the red flower in her hair. "She's not in right now. Can I take a message?"

Matthew sighed, but he gave a charitable grin and shook his head. "No, that's alright..." There was a silence, punctuated by the water lapping the dock. "Where is the?"

"She's off singing revolution with a giver."

"A giver? What good would they do?"

The Taiwanese girl shook her head despondently and somewhat hypocritically replied, "Don't ask me to explain that girl. I don't see the problem with letting you guys duke it out. Doesn't need to involve us."

"Pretty sure that's what Maria's arguing against." Matthew looked up at the sky, blood red, and wondered if it were symbolic.

"Regardless." Iris kept treading water, in a way, and her head was growing dangerously heavy, she felt. "What use do we have of you? If Maria thinks humans and leeches and dogs can compare to us, she's going to be killed."

Matthew frowned, but couldn't respond before Iris disappeared. He pulled out his cellphone and dug through his contacts, resorting to more traditional methods.

* * *

><p>Maria reached the bay about an hour before Yao would leave the plane, ticket and barely used passport in hand, and during the cab ride to the airport she leaned her head against the window and made figures with the water that had misted over it.<p>

She waved cheerily as he walked through the arrivals gate, a small placard nestled in her elbow reading "MR. WANG". Her sundress had been replaced by a loose skirt and a blouse, her hair drawn in a bun and her ribbon stuck to her lapel. He approached warily, unaware he had ordered a taxi service, and she laughed heartily at the question. "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for my personal car. I'm here to take you to Lukas Bondevik?"

Yao's expression changed abruptly, and he sighed with relief. "Okay, then. I just was not expecting to meet him so early."

She smiled, clacking out of the airport in her pa heels, letting Yao decide to follow her.

She stepped into the pitch black bentley that Iris had stepped out of moments earlier, and easily slid out of the parking lot, moving through the toll booth with a nod to the young man working it.

She didn't attempt conversation as she navigated the streets of DC, pulling up besides a typical brick building. Leaving the keys in the car, she pulled open the door for her passenger and glided to the entrance.

Upon reaching it, she was blocked by a tall Danish man with an inquisitive expression. "Maria?" He started, furtively glancing back at the three people moving towards the elevator behind him. "What are you-"

"I'm here with Mr. Bondeviks's guest." She replied easily, a calculating glimmer in her eye.

"Now's not the best time."

"Easy to accept favors, Mr. Køhler, isn't it. I never expected you not to reciprocate."

He gave her his best stink-eye, but she merely smiled. Finally he relinquished, melodramatically letting her through the door. She nodded and gestured to Yao, who had been wafting throughout the courtyard trying not to eavesdrop (well, trying not to look like he's eavesdropping.). They walked through the building with the same quick pace, Maria gesturing to rooms and listing off purposes (this was the most fun for her, she thought; she'd always entertained the idea of temporarily working in an office, learning the ins and outs.) After passing the fifth conference room, she spun on her heel and asked for a moment.

Darting into the lab, she bemusedly took in the humorous situation in front of her. A young woman with honey-blonde hair was shooting across the room rapidly, cooing every time she saw a new instrument, while the prodigal doctor was glaring at Mathias, torture surely on mind. Erik had taken the opportunity to remain steadfastly at work in an isolated area.

Maria cleared her throat, noting absentmindedly that the ribbon on her lapel had straightened out, and cocked an eyebrow in Mathias's direction.

Before he could speak, Lukas had noticed her.

He frowned, imperceptibly, and began to speak, "How many actresses are coming, Mathias?"

"Sorry, I'm not actually an actress. I'm Yao Wang's assistant."

"He's here?" Lukas's expression barely changed, but to an observant eye, he seemed nervous.

"Er, yes. Change of plans, I'm afraid." She walked closer to the norwegian and gave a companionable sigh. "I tried to convince him to call you, but it was all a big rush."

"No, it's alright. I just-" He looked throughout the room, wherever the actress wasn't delighting in new discoveries, and quickly grabbed a folder. "Okay. I'll go meet him in conference room 5."

"Excellent. I'll show him the way."

* * *

><p>Zoë glanced at Mathias as Lukas left the room. Erik, still in the room, kept her from speaking, but she pursed her lips and furrowed her brows.<p>

Catching the message, Mathias gestured to the door, giving Erik a reassuring smile as they left the lab.

"I guess it was the folder. We should be fine, I think." She shrugged, slouching against the door.

"He's not on the right path?"

"He could be," She pulled her phone from her pocket, swiping occasionally, "If he takes every step right from here. But we've been at this stage a million times. I don't think there's anything to worry about." She gave the Dane a look, perhaps bored, perhaps scornful. "Besides, I don't think he has the imagination to realize what his experiments are telling him."

Mathias nodded, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his stomach. He knew, consciously, that he should be exuberant, or at least relieved. Instead, he felt something akin to pity. He tried not to frown as they left the building.

* * *

><p>As Lukas took in the appearance of the doctor in front of him, he wondered how much of an elitist he could be.<p>

Yao had started the meeting by apologizing for any confusion over dates, taking a single look at the folder, and eagerly launching into the topic.

Lukas had been wary, at first, when he received the email from Yao. He'd heard, as everyone had, of the experiments the man had previously performed, nearly always inconclusive, but he hadn't expected to hear from him, even if they were studying the same phenomenon.

As Yao flipped through more of the folder, making casual comments, sometimes aloud, often in the margins, Lukas nodded, trying not to think of the actress terrorizing his lab.

* * *

><p>Arthur's breathing was ragged, nearly, as the end of the day approached. He coughed haggardly, taking some relief in the much worse condition of his sparring partner. Dragging himself off the floor, he threw himself onto the same chair, triumphant. "Another one to me, kid."<p>

Alfred gave a delighted grin, "It's last man _standing_, Arturo."

"Bit more difficult for you, mate."

Arthur paused to consider the gleam in Alfred's eye, deciding it was inconclusive, before there was a small _thwap _sound and he found himself lying on the floor, groaning and clutching a rapidly healing broken arm. Above him dangled the chair, barely below ceiling level, and the rope stood taut through a rafter.

Across the room, Alfred was slowly standing up against the table, hand dangerously close to a small brown button.

* * *

><p><strong>comment etc<strong>

**next chapter is done, and will be up as soon as i have wifi**


	13. The Yellow Stone

**AN: As the plot is growing, I've had less time to introduce and explore secondary characters. This chapter.5 features every single character relevant to the plot for a small snippet. Some snippets are irrelevant to the plot, some introduce utterly untouched and very important information.**

**Almost all take place before the current chapter, many before the first.**

**It's a bit of a behemoth, in forms of short interactions, but enjoy**

* * *

><p>The Seine was scarlet; the sky was, actually, but the seine reflected it, and as Francis walked over the stone river-side he wondered if it were symbolic. There had been thousands of red skies in his past. They were always daunting, he remembered. Rarely dangerous.<p>

Until one red night, when the moon was new and the sky had no reason to be red at night; when flames licked up and up and up and reached the sky; when the red was created by man.

Wasn't that always the way?

He pondered for a second, before reaching for his phone, to call an old friend.

* * *

><p>Antonio picked up on the last ring. He shouted into the microphone for a few minutes before hanging up.<p>

A second later, he picked up on the first ring.

"Sorry about that, driving."

"No worries. On the way?"

"Maybe... I got a bit lost." Antonio chuckled, scratching his neck. "And the GPS stopped working."

"They always do, don't they? Follow the signs, perhaps?"

"Airports were built to confuse you," Antonio sagely reminded his friend, "You see signs miles away but once you get close- oh, a sign, hold on." After inadvertently hanging up, Antonio realized the sign was for arrivals, and sent a frowny face to Francis and Gilbert.

* * *

><p>Gilbert looked at the frowny face with a frown on his own face. He stepped down the stairs from his above-bar flat with slow, steady, steps, letting his instinct take over as he typed out a reply.<p>

Yawning, he barely registered his head banging into the low ceiling on the last step.

Swiping his hand over the bar, he twanged the empty napkin dispenser and sighed. The worst part about waking up past noon daily was the daylight reminding him of everything he had to do.

The worst part about all his friends arriving was reminding him that he hadn't left in years.

The door opened and he let a patented grin scrawl across his face. His baby bro was back.

* * *

><p>Squeezing out of the patented Gilbert Embrace, Ludwig tried not to be affected by his brother's infectious grin.<p>

"Now, I know you're only here to see your main squeeze, but we're going to have some quality brother bonding before he arrives." Gilbert immediately launched into speech. Before Ludwig could ask his brother why he was speaking like a mother from the 90s, he had found a new subject, "Also, my own friends are coming so it'll be a bit of tight squeeze." That was the second time he had said squeeze, Ludwig noted curiously. "Now I don't _mind _sleeping behind the bar and giving you the apartment, host-guest whatever blah blah, but you're gonna have to be alright with other people living with you, and, realistically, making a mess-"

Gilbert had devolved into rapid-fire german early into the tangent, and Ludwig gave up on interrupting.

Instead, he sat on a stool and wondered when Feliciano would arrive.

* * *

><p>The light was on in his brother's room, Feliciano wearily noted, as he tumbled through the house in the dead of the night. The light in the bathroom startled him for a moment, and he hated how awoken he'd become. He yawned with his whole body, arms raised in the air and wrists curling in on themselves.<p>

Ludwig had arrived six hours earlier, Feliciano realized, and they would be leaving in another six.

It seemed superfluous, he idly thought, to meet in an entirely separate country, particularly when they lived relatively close, but he allowed the spirit of adventure the respect it deserved.

Rather than dwell on the prospect, Feliciano stumbled back to his room, squinting at the light coming from his brother's room, and desperately lusting after an espresso.

* * *

><p>Lovino turned the light off, as a courtesy, after hearing his brother pad through the house. As always when traveling, a knot of anxiety had found its way into his stomach, gnawing away as he recounted and rechecklisted.<p>

Eventually, he left the unpacked (after initially being packed twice) suitcase on his bed and pulled up his computer.

"I'm more worried about crashing over the ocean" had been Antonio's response.

Lovino frowned, and ended the conversation.

* * *

><p>Lars looked over Antonio's shoulder and coughed.<p>

Snapping the laptop shut, Antonio turned around with a cheery grin and a sweaty brow.

"Who was that?"

Antonio considered lying, but said, "Lovino Vargas?"

"The kid I used to babysit?" Lars knitted his eyebrows together, having thoroughly repressed the memory of Antonio's age-twisting antics. "Why? How did you even find him?"

"Miraculous twist of fate."

He squinted, attempting to draw further information, but Antonio didn't seem to notice. Dropping the subject, he decided to call his sister.

* * *

><p>"Hallo?" Zoë held her phone to her ear, watching passerby.<p>

The answer was muffled, irritated, and dutch.

"You need to practice your english, Lars, if you're coming over here. Also-" she looked at her watch and did a short calculation," why are you up at two in the morning? Get some sleep."

A harsh reply and a surprised protest in the background.

"Well what did you expect, he's a creature of the night." She rolled her eyes at Lars's indignation and scoffed, "Yeah, that's gonna happen. Look, I have to be on set in an hour and I'm still at a Starbucks twenty miles away. I'll call you back?" She quickly ended the call, slipping into her car. She didn't have time for small chat, she thought. With two movies in the fiscal year, she was barely cramming in sleep.

She idly remembered she would be playing a scientist in the next movie. She was looking forward to the character study.

* * *

><p>Erik had decided to become a scientist about the same time he realized his brother was, in fact, his brother.<p>

His brother had sat him down across the coffee table, and rather than exchange words they'd stared at each other for a few minutes while Erik conveyed his conviction and Lukas his doubt.

"Well," Lukas had said eventually, "If that's what you _want _to do, that's fine."

He'd taken to biology like a fish to water, far surpassing his collegiate peers. When he showed his brother his scores, Lukas told him not to worry about slow learning curves.

Erik told him to shut up.

* * *

><p>Lukas, being a teenager no matter what else, was uncertain why he had friends.<p>

Erik was his brother, he'd reason. We were born to occasionally tolerate each other. Mathias was an outlier.

Others, like Iris, who would flit in and out of his life, could hardly be considered a friend.

So, he realized, it was really only Mathias.

Lukas, being paranoid before even a teenager, wondered if there were an ulterior motive.

He knew, in his subconscious, that he wasn't necessarily pleasant to hang around. He'd carefully formulated it that way. But Mathias stuck it through. Lukas shrugged, and turned to his brother, asking, "Is it just me, or has Mathias been spending more time here lately?"

"Maybe you're just noticing him more."

Lukas hated how possible it was.

* * *

><p>Mathias sometimes wondered if he and Arthur were on the right side. If they were right to hide. He'd been certain of his position since the beginning, but just as all must, he'd begun to waver.<p>

Sometimes he saw it in Arthur, too. Zoë was steadfast in her conviction. She was certain they would win; they would have the freedom to continue hiding.

Mathias wasn't certain about anything.

He wasn't certain he could keep Lukas from discovering. He wasn't certain he wanted to. He wasn't certain he should.

* * *

><p>As with all harsh winters, Tino faced it head on. "Come on, then. We're both hot blooded."<p>

"Some more than others..." mumbled his partner.

Before Tino could lecture Berwald on the intricacies of hybrids, they'd reached the top of the mountain.

"Wow," he said instead, breathlessly. Berwald nodded in agreement. To casual observers (not that there were any), it would appear as though they'd been stunned by the view.

Tino ran a hand over the edge of the marking that had captured his attention, and smiled triumphantly.

* * *

><p>Berwald looked at Tino, rapturously stroking the pale monument. It looked sickly, to him. A bitter yellow laced the stone and clashed against the stark red markings.<p>

Tino seemed to have grown entranced- but also glowing, and the wind seemed to increase in plenitude. It swirled around them, menacing, as though the wrath of Odin was imminent.

He wanted, reflexively, to leave. He didn't.

He'd seen things just as old. He'd fought women older.

But then again, he'd lost.

* * *

><p>Elizaveta danced like she sung; with great talent, and little passion. But she danced with everyone. She danced with Roderich, daily, with unrestrained delight (sometimes the waltz, sometimes the samba). She danced with Gilbert, the two of them muffling laughter, out of respect to Roderich, who was glaring at the two of them together.<p>

She danced with Arthur, when he was young, physically and truly, and never stopped to ask if he'd like to be flung in the air, because he always would.

So it made sense that she fought like she danced. Battles, deftly, with the lead in her grasp; arguments, with the knowledge that she was superior.

Elizaveta didn't fight often, because winning got boring, but when she did it was with the only person who seemed to be in her life anymore.

* * *

><p>"Oh god," Roderich had said the first night, curled together with Elizaveta, "Is this a felony?"<p>

"Shuuuut uuuuuuup," had been her response, muffled by a pillow, "Those rumors aren't even _true."_

"Is that right... mother?"

She shot out of the bed at the word, grimace on her face, "That's disgusting. Don't joke about that. _Ew."_

He laughed, recklessly, like he rarely does anymore, and shook his head. "Alright. I promise."

He repressed the desire to ask who the father was.

* * *

><p>"Elizaveta," Vlad had pleaded, when her name wasn't Elizaveta and his wasn't Vlad, "Be reasonable. Come back."<p>

"Shove it!"

Vlad watched as the only woman he had truly loved walked out of his home. If only he had the courage to do the same.

Millenia later, he still hadn't found it. A courier ran into his room, holding out a letter.

The boy was a hybrid, he noted curiously. They'd become more common. Holding out his hand, the boy placed the letter face down, dashing out of the room in a tan blur. Flipping it over, he was left with only a word.

Hedervary.

* * *

><p>Trince dashed out the room as soon as he had handed The Father the letter. He'd fought the urge to peek at the contents for the majority of his employ, but as he had finally reached Romania he could no longer resist.<p>

He didn't stop running until he reached the border of Greece, panting for air and slumping against a withering tree.

Eventually, Gupta arrived, all billowing robes, and looked at Trince with an expression close to worry.

"You looked in the letter." Trince pouted, but Gupta could read the truth. "Elizaveta trusted us with it."

"Well, what did you expect? You're the one who trusted a child with something confidential," Trince shot back. "Wait-" his eyes widened, and he looked up to see Gupta's ever present smirk.

* * *

><p>Gupta waited patiently as Trince went through the letter in unwavering detail. Occasionally, the young boy would make a vicious comment about its contents, but Gupta didn't let it bother him.<p>

"Did you tell anyone else about it?" He asked finally, combing through Trince's gentle hair. The boy had finally calmed down, and the exhaustion from his run had taken over.

"Just Sadiq and Herakles. I think they told Kiku, though," he hummed.

"Good."

* * *

><p>There was an unignorable tension in the office, and Sadiq's lips had stayed pressed thin for over an hour.<p>

"So," he finally began, "Looks like mom and dad are finally done squabbling."

Herakles gave him a confused look, yawned, and asked, "Have you and Gupta finished the proceedings?"

"Shut up, moron, they're our parents too."

* * *

><p>Herakles pondered retribution for being told to shut up, but frankly, he was too damn tired. "Can I go back home now?" He asked instead, directing his attention to Kiku.<p>

The giver didn't respond, rereading the rewritten letter a second time instead. Herakles frowned and kept his gaze on him, until the younger man jumped up in surprise.

"Yes, of course." He flitted back to the paper, "Although he's right, Adnan-san. This doesn't regard either of you greatly."

Herakles snorted as he stood, hitting Sadiq on the back of his head on the way out. "Told you so."

* * *

><p>Watching Herakles glide out of the room, a small trail of water dripping after him, Kiku continued with a lower voice.<p>

"We can't let Maria figure out about this."

"I wasn't going to tell her-"

"Of course not-" Kiku cut off the Turk, then bit his lip and apologized, before adding, "but I'm not sure Herakles will be able to help himself. It's better if he doesn't understand this letter's significance."

Leaning back in the chair, he fanned himself with the letter to combat the unyielding Egyptian sun. The letter itself wasn't very dangerous, but if Elizaveta was finally willing to contact Vlad directly, it meant she understood the severity of their situation better than they had.

Last time they'd barely scraped by, no matter how cocky Iris acted.

* * *

><p>Yao hadn't left Beijing since his original experiment had failed.<p>

He'd been labeled a mad scientist almost the second his data hit the journals, although with much more scorn than fear.

When he'd cleared away the lab and sold the lease, he turned to Iris for the last time.

"So I guess I'll never know what you are."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Yao," She'd replied with a grin. "Only one person ever has."

* * *

><p>Maria would hate her.<p>

Iris dashed through the back alleys, walkways, bridges and roofs that built Amsterdam. Behind her, over a kilometer away, was her pursuer. At any point she could be gone.

The words ran through her head, as they always did. "Nothing but a toy."

She slipped off the roof into an empty alley and adjusted her skirt as a tall man came into the alley. A large scarf was wrapped around his neck and she realized belatedly that it was winter.

"Hello," she greeted, in choppy dutch. He offered her a cigarette, and she shook her head. She knew it would only be a matter of years before people realized it killed them.

"I'd take it if I were you," he said in fluent chinese, "Don't you know there's a war going on?"

* * *

><p>Maria walked the earth knowing that she could move from Sydney to Seattle in a minute; that she would live longer than all humans in the vicinity combined; that love was not an option- and she held her knowledge in her stride.<p>

Occasionally, but not often (only when it served her), she would bump into someone as she walked down the street. Occasionally, but not often (only when it served them) they would blush, and fumble, and apologize.

Maria would twiddle on the ribbons in her hair, and tell them not to worry about it.

They would smile and go on their way, and groan at the speeding car darting just in front of them. People in this city have no respect, they would think.

Maria would smile, and walk into her favorite convenience store.

* * *

><p>Pablo had no idea why Maria frequented his store, never to buy anything particularly significant, but he nervously smiled as she approached his register.<p>

Maria was beautiful in an intimidating way, as if convincing her to speak to you would make you culpable for your own destruction.

He wanted to tell her that he only worked there part time, that the other half of the day he made his own gelato in his own food truck.

He wanted to tell her he played football on the weekends, and was really getting very good.

Or that he'd travelled all over the world, and would do it again, with her.

Instead, he scanned her allergy medicine and told her to have a good day.

* * *

><p>The first time Alfred killed a vampire was the fourth time he'd encountered one. He'd expected dramatics, a scream, a plea for his life, but the vampire had seemed so shocked he was even capable of being killed. He had looked up at him, eyes wide, and laughed, even as his teeth turned to sand.<p>

For half a moment Alfred considering looking through his wallet. Then he shuddered, ashamed of himself, and walked away.

"You're distracted."

Alfred snapped up, eyes bright, and shook his head. "Maybe I'm just bored of fighting the same old man every day."

"In a second of distraction, I could disarm you. In a minute, kill." Arthur looked curious. "Don't forget that. It goes for us too."

* * *

><p>Arthur barely remembered the past. Days had turned into weeks, and weeks months.<p>

"I'm in your debt." Antonio stood before him, naval uniform tearing at every seam. He seemed furious at himself to be forced to admit it. "I owe you my life."

Arthur straightened his posture, sword in hand. "Don't be ridiculous. You would have done the same for me."

"No. I would have killed you."

"Fine. Then you owe me your life."

Arthur choked, hand scrabbling to his throat. A wooden knife was digging into his jugular. Behind him Alfred taunted, "Don't get distracted, Artie."

* * *

><p>Ivan turned triumphantly to his friends; his family. "Ta-da! Do not rush to congratulate me, please." Before anyone could respond, Natalia rushed through the doors, squealing (well, she would have squealed, if squealing were a thing that she did).<p>

Rather than be bothered, he beamed at the intrusion. He'd been renovating the cellar for months, and the best praise for a job well done didn't come in words.

His older sister thanked him with a minute long hug, whispering thanks in his ear.

In front of them were the other four, hesitant.

Finally, Raivis walked into the cellar too, beckoning to Toris and Eduard. Feliks stayed behind, twiddling his thumbs.

"See?" Ivan hummed, "We're going to work it all out."

* * *

><p>"We can work it out, together." Yekaterina heard the hollowness in her words. "We'll find Ivan. We can't wait anymore."<p>

Feliks seemed uncharacteristically furious, for a moment. Then his expression eased, and he sat down next to the others. "I want him back too, Yeka, but waiting's our best bet. Otherwise we might just like, miss each other."

She'd always been the eldest, but Ivan had always managed to take all her responsibilities as well as his own. Now he had given up all of them. It was on her now, and she had to be ready. "Some will stay and some will go. I am leaving. Who is with me?"

* * *

><p>"If any of you are staying, I need to watch the cellar." Feliks blurted out immediately. He shrugged when Raivis frowned at him. "What, you think I'd trust you guys alone here?"<p>

"You're right," Yekaterina replied, "Although I'd been hoping you all would come."

Raivis shook his head, eyes shaky, "I'm staying... I'm sorry, Yeka."

Feliks turned to him, trying to flash him a sympathetic smile, but the vampire had tucked his head into his knees and was totally unresponsive. His smile reached Toris, and he smiled back.

* * *

><p>"I'll go." As soon as the words were out, Feliks's smile vanished, and Toris would have felt guilty, if he weren't so terrified. Eduard nodded next to him, glasses hiding his eyes.<p>

Raivis, unable to see him, didn't respond. When Eduard voiced his conviction, Toris saw his body tighten, and wondered whether they'd gotten it all wrong. Something felt disconnected, and he turned to Feliks to figure out what.

The werewolf had turned his back to him, staring out the window at the barely waxing moon.

So instead he turned to the only member who hadn't spoken, and gave Natalia a nod.

* * *

><p>Raivis could barely hear the others speaking, knees pressed tight against his temple, thighs blocking his ears.<p>

But mostly, he couldn't hear over the constant drumming of his heart. Amplified by his encasement, it was all he could hear.

It was a slow, languid beat. Every few seconds there would be a _thump, _the crest before the fall. Even with the panic, his heart was abnormally slow.

He let the noise take over, washing out the sounds of his friends agreeing to abandon him, when one voice rang out- _"and me."_

* * *

><p>Eduard didn't feel any real guilt over leaving. He knew, theoretically, that the guilt would have been worse if he'd stayed; that he constantly would have worried if he could have contributed.<p>

However, he couldn't help but feel a tug when he felt Raivis tense up next to him.

It was impossible to see them apart for over an hour, Toris would always joke. Most of the time they spent together was in argument or silence, but it was together nonetheless.

He turned to Natalia, trying to ignore Raivis's newfound shaking.

* * *

><p>"No," Natalia declared, voice bouncing off the walls, "Ivan will return. He's coming back."<p>

Yekaterina looked at her, and seemed heartbroken for a moment. "Very well. Three of us go, three of us stay. A perfect split."

She spun on her heel and thudded out of the house, ensuring Toris and Eduard that provisions were already packed.

Natalia would have felt useless, if she ever believed her brother would leave her.

* * *

><p>Peter didn't moan on the flight, because he was on flights constantly, and moaning was not a thing that he did as the respected son of a diplomat, but a broken TV was not a laughing matter for a twelve year old child.<p>

Banging his head against the window, he ignored the fretful look on his nanny's face.

A girl across the aisle giggled, and he blushed as he realized how childish he was being. She was younger than him, obviously, but it was no good for a representative such as himself to make a fool of himself

Turning off the monitor of the broken TV, he stared out of the window, watching the clouds swirl, and tried to ignore the continued giggles of the girl across the aisle.

* * *

><p>Ella tried to stifle her laughter with her hands, if unsuccessfully, and eventually the boy snapped his head back, cheeks a furious red.<p>

"Alright," he'd bit out, "What is it. What's so amusing."

She stopped giggling for a moment to suck in air, and her father ruffled her air. "Becaaauuuuse," she answered, "You're hitting your head for no _reason!"_

The boy seemed utterly perplexed for her reasoning, but also seemed to move on, grabbing a book from his bag.

She frowned, certain he hadn't understood the basis for her laughter, and continued, "It's _silly_ when people do things for no reason. If you were going to hurt yourself, you'd need a _reason _for it, silly. I can give you a very good reason for that, too, if you-"

* * *

><p>"Sorry about that, mate," Kyle grinned at the young boy and his nanny, who had been thoroughly startled. "She's been getting real philosophical. You know how they are. Well, not you, clearly, since you're obviously too young to have your own children."<p>

The nanny blushed, and seemed to accept his apology. Peter, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly disgusted by the idea of someone complimenting his _nanny._

Kyle kept his hand over Ella's mouth for a few more seconds, even as she licked it, but he pulled away sharply when she gave him a playful bite.

He didn't know how he would handle her alone.

* * *

><p>Leo had forgotten the years, but he hadn't forgotten the cold.<p>

Wandering had gotten boring, after a few days, but he couldn't stop; he'd been an animal back then, freshly turned with no one to teach him what was happening to him.

For a couple weeks, he'd found a home in a barn. It had been an almost cliché barn, red and chipped on the exterior, with creaking hinges and breaking ladders.

At some point, he'd gone insane. Bit someone, he asked himself. Did he bite someone?

But then he'd found himself, and he'd found Ella, and Kyle- and he'd left his past behind him.

Until it came back.

* * *

><p>Matthew bit into the cold bag reluctantly. He cringed, trying not to spit out the reclusive liquid, and gave Gilbert a capital Look. "Can't you..." he hesitated, "Microwave it? Or something?"<p>

"Please do not tell me to put blood in my very nice mugs." Gilbert was watching Matthew with a bemused smile, trying not to laugh, and it was only out of his utmost respect that he achieved his goal.

"Fine, whatever. Can I have a straw?"

"That's not very Canadian of you. Where's my please."

"Do you know Elizaveta is considering entering a singing competition? We're getting quite close. I have her on speed dial now."

Gilbert frowned, but pulled a mug from the cabinet.

* * *

><p><strong>So yeah, not really a chapter, but it sure was a monster to write<strong>

**comment etc**


	14. XII: With Hair Spun From Gold

**AN: Short, but I think one of my better chapters.**

* * *

><p>He was almost uncomfortable with how comfortably he walked into the room, as though the floor plan was written on his hand.<p>

Alfred cocked a brow when Arthur walked into the room, casually exuding his usual (misplaced) smugness. Arthur astutely refused to respond, instead turning to the (damn unusable) keurig machine.

If he hadn't struggled to reach the brewing option, Alfred would have believed his aloofness. Instead, he held back a laugh.

"So it's true? All vampires struggle with new technology?"

"A, not all vampires were born in the fifteenth century, Alfred, some are being born now, so, no," Arthur stated, finally creating the elusive cup of earl grey. "And B, I happen to have some close friends who knew Cleopatra herself that can use a computer better than you." Not, he thought, but did not say, that you are the epitome of technological genius.

"Do you really?" He sounded genuinely interested.

With a cough, Arthur admitted, "Well, one. And we're not very close. But I do know a few that are much older, albeit did not make her acquaintance."

"And by a few, you mean one again?"

"Yes, alright. But she and I are _very_ close."

Alfred frowned at the stress on the very, and only the squelching sound of the keurig filled the abrupt silence.

"So," Arthur started, taking his cuppa and moving on to the sparring room, "First lesson for the day, I suppose. We don't have a natural lifespan."

"Wow, Artie, really doling out the exclusive tips."

"Well, it's not as obvious as you might think," Arthur argued, careful to keep the tea steady, "I mean, werewolves die after a few millennia. I'm sure they'd find some way to kill themselves before then, but they _can_ die of old age." He opened his mouth to continue, possibly to explain the many ways he'd seen werewolves stupidly die, but Alfred cut him off.

"Wait, Arthur, shut up- you've been telling me shit about getting distracted or whatever and you didn't feel like telling me _werewolves _exist?" Alfred stared at Arthur, mouth gaping, and Arthur had a similar expression.

"I mean, well- I thought you _knew_-" Arthur said incredulously, "Most people find out about that _way _before vampires."

* * *

><p><em>The door was open when he retuned, and Alfred made sure to hide the lump in his jacket as he nodded to the man at the information desk.<em>

_He kept his neck stiff and shoulders raised as he passed by, the picture of a diligent student, rather than a thieving paranormal hunter. (Obviously, he thought, that's what he would become. You don't just get this stuff handed on a platter for no reason.)_

"_Just passing through," He said in what was surely a diligent way, "I just can't get enough of those fairy tales." He winced internally. Real people didn't say that. Well, Mattie said that, but he was Canadian, so it didn't count._

"_You know, Alfred," The man said with a smile, "If you'd like to take books home with you, you can get a library card for free."_

_Alfred froze, stock still, and could swear his neck creaked as he turned around._

"_That way you won't have to come in every day."_

_He grinned, relieved and nodded his head, "I think I have one at home, thanks!"_

_As he rushed to the fairy tale section, hand held protectively over the lump in his jacket, Alfred scanned the books more closely._

_To the end the of the shelf sat another German book, it's English title engraved manually into the cover, and Alfred turned the book in his hands to read the spiraling letters._

"_Cinder-ash Ella"_

* * *

><p>"I had suspicions, at one point," Alfred said, if only to somewhat save his dignity, "But I figured, what are the chances of both of you existing? I thought it was one or the other."<p>

Arthur looked at him curiously, as though he had answered an unasked question, before setting down the empty mug on the now familiar chair. "Well, let's move on for now."

* * *

><p>Antonio peered into the light with a hiss and squint, in a very nosferatu-way. Gilbert frowned and hit him on the nose with a bundle of napkins. "Don't be dramatic. That would happen to any of us after staying inside for five days straight."<p>

"Ah, you mean four. I, unlike you, can count past three."

"Or, you haven't noticed the sun rising after staying, as previously mentioned, inside for five days straight."

Antonio turned his squint to his friend, closing the curtains. "Arthur's going to kill me. You can't turn him away for us."

'Please. That boy's been trying to pick him up for days, I'd say he got the better end of the deal." Gilbert responded nonchalantly, shoving the napkins into the ever-empty dispenser. "And I'm sure Arthur didn't mind getting fresh blood for the first time in years."

Antonio's frown didn't lessen, but he'd never been able to keep the smile from his eyes for too long. "When you put it that way..." he conceded, nudging Gilbert aside and putting the napkins in correctly.

A loud bang resounded through the bar as a short brunette huffed his way in, servers uniform hanging over the crook of his elbow.

"Alright, I'm here to serve. Tell the nonexistent customers I'm in a much better mood today, and promise not to yell at all of them." There was a trick to earning tips, he'd learnt the previous night, that did not involve calling every patron a different kind of bastard.

"The customers are nonexistent, Lovino," Gilbert replied with exasperation, "Because we don't open for another hour." He turnded to share said exasperation with Antonio, only to find the Spaniard had disappeared. Well, all but the slightest tuft of his hair had disappeared. "So..." he continued belatedly, "Maybe you should wash up and get changed while I take down the chairs."

Lovino looked reluctant, despite Gilbert technically being his boss, to take orders from him. Supposing it was inevitable, he walked to the bathroom and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Gilbert took the opportunity to drag Antonio from his hiding place hair first.

Ignoring the whimpers, he fixed his friend with an interrogating glare and tightened his grasp.

"That's him!" was the urgent whisper he received, "_Lovi,_ that's him!"

A questioning tilt of the head later, Antonio had revealed that Lovino was in fact Romano, and he thought Antonio was half his physical age, and a decimal of his actual one. Gilbert let Antonio go with a thud, and let his own head fall into his hands with a groan.

So much for avoiding dramatics.

* * *

><p><strong>Comment, etc<strong>

**the next chapter is already written (and about the same length) but I'd like to keep a buffer for now**


	15. XIII: Jasmine Sea Foam Floats Ashore

**AN: Can you smell the cheese from over there**

**No alfred today guys, sorry. Plenty of, like, iris though... lots of matthew. Gilbert's in here for like a second but he's a blessing no matter how long he stays**

* * *

><p>Maria stepped out of the building with a click of her heel and a spring in her step. She tried not to let a smile spread too wide, but it was rare a plan went perfectly.<p>

She murmured a motto to herself, mimicking Hannibal perfectly.

Before she could relish in her victory, however, she caught sight of the sleek black head making its way to the bentley.

"Sister," she greeted with a smile, her arms open.

"Maria," Iris responded cooly, "You seem happy. Your plan went well."

"I'm very lucky."

Iris narrowed her eyes, "So am I."

"Obviously. Are you returning to Taiwan tonight?"

"Egypt, actually." She looked at her nails, perfectly imitating nonchalance.

Maria's smile cracked, but her arms did not waver. "The Mediterranean? An excellent vacation choice."

"I thought so too."

"Are you going anywhere else?"

"I may pass by Turkey. Cyprus, if I have the time."

Maria let her arms fall to her side, opening the car door and leaning against it. "Greece is out of the question."

"Beautiful country-"

"Absolutely stunning-"

"But no, I won't be going."

Iris's eyes tracked Maria's, and the stand off continued for a few seconds longer before they broke simultaneously. "You don't need my permission to have your own opinion."

"Maybe technically, Maria, but we both know that isn't _really _true."

Maria frowned, "I fight for what I believe in. It would be hypocritical to keep you from doing the same."

"That wouldn't stop you."

"I thought you considered their problems beneath you," Maria interrupted, "I thought you didn't want to take a side."

"Maybe," Iris turned from Maria, clutching her upper arm, "I'm not forming an opinion about that matter at all."

"I see." Iris didn't need to see Maria's eyes to know they'd look wounded. She turned to her, anyway. "If that's what you think." Maria slid into the driver's seat, the door clicking shut behind her. Turning onto the street, she thanked her luck that there was no traffic, and sped the entire way to Philadelphia.

* * *

><p>Arthur listened intently from beneath the floorboards before hauling himself to the main floor. The panels were utterly silent when he stood, and he considered asking Alfred about his contractor. He made his way to the kitchen and barely restrained a jump at the blond figure bobbing from fridge to pantry. He could have sworn he'd heard no one in the house at all.<p>

Making sure to strengthen his footsteps, he nodded to Matthew when he turned around.

"Arthur!" Matthew couldn't restrain a grin, "What are you doing here? Please don't tell me my brother actually got you to go out with him."

"Helping him with his novel, actually," Arthur had read half of the manuscript, to keep the excuse believable, and he'd hated that he'd enjoyed it. "I'm helping him keep London realistic."

"London?" Matthew turned from spreading butter on his toast to give Arthur a curious look, "I thought it was set in Tulsa?"

"Michael goes on vacation for several months. It's not nearly as jarring as I expected it to be."

Matthew huhed, but seemed to accept it, asking more questions about the unwritten plot. Arthur answered all dutifully, surprised at how often he kept himself from getting excited about the novel.

"Well," Matthew finally said, "I won't question him about it. His last two books did well enough."

Arthur made sure to remember to look them up, grabbing a clean cup from the cupboard. Realizing it would look suspicious without anything to put in it, he set up the electric kettle and sat at the table until Matthew left.

This took much longer than Arthur had anticipated, as Matthew decided to sit at the kitchen table as he waited.

Trying to ignore the piercing stare that Matthew had not abandoned, Arthur stood as the kettle whistled. When he turned to offer tea to Matthew, he had disappeared.

* * *

><p>Matthew walked into the street ignoring the rising nausea in his stomach. No matter how he felt afterwards, he hadn't given up on human food. There was no similar variation when it came to blood, and he thought it might keep him from becoming paler than he had already been cursed to be by birth.<p>

He'd barely made it a block before someone was calling after him, and his stomach became more sick at the thought that Arthur had found something suspicious in the way that he'd eaten.

Feigning ignorance, he continued walking, speed unchanged.

The voice became louder, until a man in a pale blue peacoat drew beside him, breathless (though Matthew immediately knew he was faking) grin plastered on his face. Matthew knew the face from somewhere, but he couldn't place it. As he cocked his eyebrows to the perfect height for confusion, he realized where he knew him from.

"You're the guy from the street..." he mused, half statement half question.

"That's me." His th's transformed to z's as he spoke, and he was the most obviously French man Matthew had ever met. "Though I prefer the name Francis." Matthew tried not to laugh. He was sure his parents hadn't _meant _to turn him into a perfect representation of the country he was from.

"_Nice to meet you,"_ he responded in tilted French before coughing and adding, "_I swear my French isn't normally that bad. My name is Mathieu."_

An unstoppable grin spread over Francis's face, and Matthew couldn't keep a blush from appearing, first from his cheeks, but spreading to his entire torso.

He let himself smile too, before Francis responded, "_Immortal _and _speaks French. I'd ask you where you've been all my life, but I'd feel better if I didn't know."_

* * *

><p>Gilbert tried not to stare at Lovino too often as he flitted from customer to kitchen, obviously fake smile eating at his cheeks. He almost wanted to tell him to frown again, if only to keep the customers more sure of their safety. Lovino looked a bit like he was about to snap a chair in two, or at least snap at a customer, if his smile got any wider and obviously fake.<p>

There was only one other cause for distraction, and Gilbert tried not to stare to obviously at it either. Every few seconds a tanned brunette head would dart from under the bar, notice Lovino, and dart back under.

It was all very funny, but Gilbert hadn't served a drink in hours.

"Why," he hissed at Antonio, "Don't you go upstairs." Not that Lovino would recognize him anyway, he didn't say.

"Because," Antonio hissed back, "There are windows upstairs."

Gilbert groaned, his own grin becoming forced. "You flew in an airplane that could have killed you at any second, and you are scared of _windows. _Windows that have _curtains_."

Antonio, perhaps realizing how flimsy his excuse had been, didn't respond.

A second later, however, Gilbert watched a tanned brunette head attempting to sneak its way through the patrons towards the stairs.

Lovino, being less ignorant than Gilbert's best friend, gave Gilbert a questioning look.

The bartender merely shrugged, letting Lovino mutter "_idiota" _under his breath.

* * *

><p><strong>next chapter written but will probably be added to before being uploaded<strong>

**etc**


End file.
